


Coercion

by mggislife2789



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, Forced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Suicide Attempt, Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-10-24 15:43:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 43,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10744719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mggislife2789/pseuds/mggislife2789
Summary: The reader is just about to start her new job at the BAU after years of working to get there, when a man she doesn't know approaches her with an evil plan and knowledge of every sordid detail of her past. What will she do? Will she give into the man's demands? Or will she be able to find another way out?Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their original stories. This is only for fun. It's where my brain goes after the credits roll. No copyright intended. Better safe than sorry. ;)





	1. Chapter 1

I’m not that person anymore. I’ve worked so hard to leave that life behind. Starting at the BAU, after scratching my way up the ladder…this should be one of the greatest days of my life…

Two days after earning your long-awaited spot on the team, he approached you. “Sierra Cheverie,” he said, holding his hand out to introduce himself. That wasn’t you - not anymore. “I know all about you.” He wanted revenge. And he knew every sordid detail of your past. All of the things you did because you felt you needed to, all of the people you associated with because you had nowhere else to go…He knew it all.

Threats were made. Not on your life. “Of course not,” he said softly, taking either side of his suit jacket in his hands and pulling them closer together. Adjusting himself. After all, he had people he needed to look good for. “Someone else. Many someones.” 

What does he want with me? Who does he want to hurt? No one can know what I used to be.

His bodyguards had come up behind you, all black suits and sunglasses, like a bad movie, ushering you into his home. “You’ll have to excuse the size,” he said, taking you off guard. It was an enormous house, but apparently he was used to even loftier and luxurious accommodations. “Since I was released from prison, I’ve had to downsize a bit. I have to crawl my way back up…just like you.” His tanned skin and thin lips spread to reveal an abnormally white set of teeth. Unsettling. Despite the smile, something sinister lay underneath. “But I’ll get there eventually. And with your help, I can have my revenge on the people that ruined me. Took my wife and kids away. My money. My reputation.” 

The man stared off into the distance, presumably thinking about the people that ‘ruined’ him. His handlers placed a hand on either of your shoulders, pushing you down to sit on the couch. “They need to pay for what they’ve done to me.” Reaching over, he grabbed a folder from his right-hand man and proceeded to pull out pictures. 

“Derek Morgan.”

What?

“Emily Prentiss. Jennifer Jareau.”

No.

“Penelope Garcia. Aaron Hotchner.”

This can’t be happening.

“David Rossi. You’re dating the other one, so that would be too obvious. He’ll be left out, but the rest…”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and clutched at your chest, before looking up into his ice cold eyes. “Who are you?” you asked, realizing you didn’t even know his name. “What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?” All of the strength you’d built up since leaving that life behind, vanished like a wisp of smoke in the air. Again, you had been reduced to a cowering child. Instead of quaking and shirking away from the wide, calloused hand of your ex-boyfriend (Assaulter? Pimp? John? You didn’t know what to call him anymore), you were quivering in front of a man with more money, power and pull than anyone you’d ever known. 

“My name is Bentley Ashton and I’m a patient man,” he said, crouching down to meet your astounded gaze. “Over the next few years, I will give you instructions on how to destroy or kill a member of your new team. If you do it, at the end, I will allow you to destroy every piece of information I have on you. If you don’t, I will release everything I know about you out into the world, and if you tell them of my plans, I’ll kill him.”

The tang of copper filled your mouth as you realized you’d been biting your tongue hard enough to taste blood. Not him. Anyone but him. Kill me instead. “Stay away from Spencer,” you gritted through clenched teeth. It took every ounce of courage to threaten this man with no backup and no gun on you. “He’s done nothing to you. None of them have. They were just doing their jobs.”

“Their jobs cost me my life,” he said coolly. “I’ve waited a very long time for this, and I’ll have my revenge with or without your help. But remember, if you’re not of use to me, I’ll dispose of you.” Make yourself useful, bitch. That’s what he used to say to you. “Don’t worry. As I said, I’m a patient man. I’ll give you a week to decide what you’re going to do.”

His men came back from the marble-tiled kitchen with files in hand - a bright red folder, filled with information Mr. Ashton had dug up about your past. “This is what I have on you. I think it’s more than enough to get you thrown off of the team you worked so hard to join and into prison. Remember all of this when you make your decision.”

Without another word, he waved his hands to his men. Pressure was put on your back, and with a few clicks of your heels, you were out the door and on the steps - alone again. Ten years of freedom…and now this. 

Now, it was two days into your supposed deadline and you were starting at the BAU. I should be happy. But you couldn’t get yourself to smile. “Woah,” Penelope said as you walked in. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours? You look miserable.” Oh great. Maybe I should just quit this before I even start. If I can’t convince Penelope, who although a genius in her own right is no profiler, that I’m okay when I’m not, then how am I supposed to convince an unsub I agree with him when I don’t? Fucking hell.

“First day jitters, I guess,” you said with a strained smile. 

Light footsteps snuck up behind you and the man attached to them snuck a kiss in the crook of your neck. “Good morning, babe,” Spencer said. You couldn’t help but smile. He was everything you’d ever wanted in a man. The complete opposite of the man that held you captive while still giving you the ability to walk around and ‘do what you wanted.’ “Are you nervous? You’re going to be amazing.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you said smoothly. Outwardly, you’d actually managed to sound convincing, but the voice in your head was screaming, I’m a fuck up, I’m a fuck up, I’m a fuck up. “I just need to get going and find my footing.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” Penelope said, looping her arm in yours without realizing that the gesture was ripping out your insides. “Anyone Boy Genius over here recommends is good by us. You’ll be fine. Let’s head in there, shall we?”

Spencer followed behind but reached in front of you to hand you your normal morning coffee order - large, milk, sugar, espresso shot. What the hell were you supposed to do? Should you run and change identities again? Should you risk telling the team of your past, and in turn risk their lives anyway? Should you take a completely different route and end your own life so your past didn’t have to be revealed? A cough brought up bile, stinging your throat and leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

If there was anything you knew about yourself, it was that you were a coward. There was no way you’d be able to end your own life. But you were too ashamed to tell the team of your past? Maybe if you “tried” to do what Ashton wanted and “failed” he would find another way to go about his evil plan and you could work on the side that you were meant to fight on. Feeling in your pocket, you crumpled the card in your hand, running your fingers over the raised text of the burner phone number he’d given you.

For a weakling like you, there was no other way out.

—-

Before he’d had a beautiful wife, two boys he’d been raising in his image, a loving family, and a reputation as an esteemed businessman and governmental figure. Now…this. He barely had enough money to support his lifestyle. Even had to sell a few of his prized cars in order to buy his way out of prison. He had no misconceptions about what this new life plan would bring him. His wife wouldn’t come crawling back to him. His boys would still look at him with disdain. His family wouldn’t ever acknowledge his existence again. He’d never have a career in politics. But he could build up his fortune again, and he could have his revenge on the scum that ripped all of his hard work away and ruined his life. If he got his revenge, that would be enough.

As he looked in the mirror, he pulled his lip down to examine his teeth, make sure he didn’t have anything in teeth before adjusting his suit again. “She’ll call today,” he said to his reflection – amazed that he still looked so handsome after all that time in prison. “Luck’s about to turn around.”


	2. Chapter 2

19 Years Earlier…

Crash!

You woke up in a cold sweat, swatting at the air and screaming at the top of your lungs as the tears rolled down your face. It was only when your head hit the dirtied blue blanket above your head that you realized where you were and why you were screaming. 

“Mom and Dad are gone. No other family. 15 and alone. Mom and Dad are gone. Not other family. 15 and alone.” You repeated it like a mantra in an attempt to anchor yourself to reality. This was life now.

The pang of hunger in your gut alerted you to the fact that you hadn’t eaten in at least 36 hours. Had it really only been two weeks since your parents had been taken away from you in the blink of an eye? As you gazed into the compact one of the other girls (homeless girls, Y/N, you’re homeless now remember?) lent you, you would’ve thought they’d been gone for years. Your skin was pallid. Your eyes sunken. The dark circles threatening to encompass the entirety of your eyes. Your hair was stringy and greasy, having gone without a shower for four days now. You looked like absolute hell. Nothing like your former self. It looked as if you’d been this way your entire life, but you knew better. Just over two weeks ago, you were living a normal life.

But then your parents decided to go an impromptu mini-vacation for their 20th wedding anniversary. You were 15. You told them you’d text them periodically so they didn’t worry. But you were a good kid, so they felt comfortable leaving you at home for a couple of days.

They never got to spend the weekend together. As they drove on the highway late at night, a drunk truck driver hit them head on, having taken the exit ramp onto the wrong side of the road. They died instantly.

And now you were alone. There was no one you could turn to.

“You wanna go scrounge in the dumpsters out back? Leslie asked, bringing you out of your own head. “That’s why I figured we could come here. I heard this restaurant throws away a ton of really good food at the end of the day.”

The thought of eating out of the dumpster repulsed you - but your stomach growled again. Your need for food outweighed your repulsion. It would have to do. “You have any idea where there’s a good place for a shower?” you asked, getting up and walking with her to the dumpsters. When you gave her a boost inside, she immediately came out with boxed food that looked like it hadn’t even been touched by human hands, no less garbage, so you quickly dug in. “I’m not used to not showering every day.”

Leslie was a year older than you and had been on the streets for nearly a year and a half. From a strict Catholic household, she was kicked out after getting pregnant at 14 and a half. “You get used to it,” she said matter-of-factly, putting her arm around your shoulder. “But yea, I know a place.”

If it weren’t for Leslie, you’d probably have died of starvation already. She scrounged for what she could where she could, and made money however she was able. But she was managing, and when she saw you a few streets down from where she normally stayed, crying and in pain from not having eaten for three days, she shared her own food with you. Now for the last week and a half, she’d been helping you along. You’d probably never be able to thank her enough. “We can head there after we eat some more. Might as well eat while we can. You never know where the next meal is gonna come from.”

After finishing up with your grand meal of day-old stale glazed donuts, a perfectly good banana that was almost too perfect to have been thrown away, and an unopened bottle of water, which you split with Leslie, you headed over to the shelter she knew of. Apparently, they opened their doors periodically to let people that didn’t live there take a shower - and even offered some clean clothes that had been donated. You were really looking forward to some clean clothes. “So how is it that you even ended up here?” she asked as you walked down the street. “I mean I get that they were in a car accident, but you seem like you came from a really great family. You couldn’t stay in the house you grew up in?”

“We didn’t have a house,” you replied, the tears welling up as you thought about how much your parents had loved you. “We didn’t have that much. They both worked two jobs to make ends meet. We lived in a small apartment. The rent was due last week, so I would’ve missed it, and they didn’t have any money to leave me anyway. I was in a foster home for a couple of days, but they had so many kids in the house, that they couldn’t be fed well anyway, and the man in the house was a creep, so I ran out.”

The shelter was just a block away, but you could barely see it through the veil of tears. You tried to wipe them away and remain strong, but Leslie hugged you close. “Oh baby, I’m so sorry,” she cooed. “Don’t try and stay strong. You’ve been through so much. Just let it out.”

Stopping in front of the shelter, you turned into Leslie’s embrace, ignoring how badly you both smelled and sobbed for five straight minutes. “What am I going to do?” you asked.

“What did you imagine doing with your life?” she replied, her eyes somehow still hopeful after a year and a half on the streets and a horrible upbringing. 

After you walked inside and signed up for the ability to use the shower, you told her all about how you dreamt of working for the FBI, as a profiler specifically. You’d always been fascinated by how other’s minds worked, and you wanted to rid the world of the awful people in it, so it seemed a natural job to pursue. “Then you’ll do it,” she said sweetly. “You have a leg up on me. I was never a good student. You’re smart. You’re determined. You came from a good family. We’ll figure it out and you’ll make it, and then you can bring me along for the ride.” She winked and patted you on the back as she was called to use the shower.

A few hours later, both of you were showered and clothed in fresh cotton sweats that smelled like sweet pea and lilac, reminding you of your mother’s cheap perfume. It was all she could afford, but she’d claimed that no matter how much money she had, that’s what she’d wear. “Ready to go, sweets?”

You spent the entire day searching around for places to go for showers, food, anything you might need. Between all the places you found, you’d probably be able to get by - at least for now.

“This is great and all,” you said, motioning to your side where you’d already gathered breakfast for the morning, “but what are we gonna do for the long run? We have to try and figure something out, or we’ll live like this forever. And I don’t want that for either of us.” Leslie shot you a quick smile. You were in this together. Even if it had only been a week and a half, you owed her you life; you wouldn’t leave her behind. 

“Hey, ladies.” A squeaky, almost childlike voice caught your ear and you turned to the side, watching as a small girl, not much older than Leslie, with a sweet smile and a couple of tattoos approached you both. By the looks of her, she’d probably been living on the streets too, but you weren’t quite sure. “Have food ready for tomorrow?”

“Yea,” Leslie said defensively. “Our food is ready to go for tomorrow morning.”

After assuring you that she wasn’t about to steal your food, Leslie let her guard down and introduced herself, so you did the same. “Are you looking for work?” she asked. By the looks of it, she had some herself. She as dressed in worn, but designer leather boots, as well as a tight skirt and beaded halter-top. “I know this guy. He works downtown. Basically, he puts parties together for the rich and famous and he’s always looking for pretty girls to just be there at these parties and dance with the clients. Interested?”

Leslie wasn’t sure, and neither were you. There was a bad feeling gnawing in the pit of your stomach, but you also didn’t have anywhere else to go, so you asked about payment. “Oh, he pays well,” the girl who’d introduced herself as Micah said. “Anywhere from 150-300 bucks per party. It depends on how long they are.”

You still weren’t sure. “Can we think about it?” you asked. When you looked across to Leslie, you could tell that both of you wanted to talk things over. “Maybe you can give us an address and we can let you know.”

“Sure,” she said. “No problem.” She pulled out a paper and scribbled on it. “Nice to meet you both. Hope to see you soon.”

The sun started to go down as Micah left the alleyway and you yawned. Thinking so much about how to get yourself out of this mess was exhausting and both of you were tired. “Do you think we should?” you asked Leslie. “It could be some steady money and that way we could save it and get ourselves out of here.”

“We could feel it out,” she said. “A couple hundred bucks to party. How bad could it be?” Another giant yawn escaped her, and you both huddled up under the newly cleaned blue blanket - the shelter had offered to wash it for you. “We’ll talk about it again in the morning, okay?”

“Sounds good,” you replied, resting your forehead against hers. Maybe this would turn things around. Maybe your dream of going into law enforcement just took a tiny detour. Maybe.

As you shot up in bed, you thanked whatever god was listening that Spencer hadn’t spent the night last night. It would’ve been awkward trying to explain why you’d woken up sweating and screaming bloody murder. Leslie was always on your mind, but you’d left that life so long ago, it hadn’t invaded your dreams in years. No one could know. The things you’d done. The things you’d seen. Forget losing your job. It could cost you your life.

Hurriedly, you pushed off the bed and ran up to your dresser, taking the car Ashton had given you in one hand, once again running your hands over the raised ink. No one could know, and even then, if you didn’t do anything, he’d kill Spencer. Besides the general team, he was the one good person in your life; you’d do anything to protect him.

With shaking hands, you dialed the number on the card, choking down vomit as Ashton picked up on the other line. “Sierra…or should I say Y/N. I’m guessing you’ve thought about my offer.”

“Yes,” you said softly, repeating yourself shortly after. “You leave Spencer alone. And if I do what you want, you destroy all of the evidence you have on me?”

“I am a man of my word.” The way he spoke was genuine, but chilling. He emphasized the “d” on word, causing a shiver to run up the length of your spine. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes,” you said, a tear falling form your eye as you realized what you’d just agreed to doing. Maybe there was a way out of this. Maybe you could trick him. But you needed to buy time.

“Tomorrow. 7PM. I’ll text the address. You’ve made a wise decision, dear. After all, you wouldn’t want for Spencer to miss Henry’s birthday party this weekend.”

How did he know…?

“I have eyes everywhere.”


	3. Chapter 3

“I’ll see you later, okay,” you said, taking Spencer’s lips in yours. He’d asked you to go out to dinner, but you told him you didn’t feel well. Which was the truth. It just happened to stem from something else that wasn’t biological.

As you made your way down the elevator and toward your car, your stomach started to churn violently. How am I supposed to do this? Since last night, when Ashton had texted you where to meet, you’d been going over every possible option in your head. You could come clean about your past, risk getting fired. But if you did, he would kill Spencer. You could run. Find your old hacker friend and ask him to set you up with a new life, but even that could results in Ashton going after the team and the man you loved anyway.

There were only two options. Take this bastard up on his ‘deal’ and find a way to outsmart him, or leave a note and take your own life. Taking your own life was a last resort. No guarantees there either. And as much shit as you’d been through, you wanted to live - you’d achieved so much.

Right now, your safest bet was to try and outsmart him. The drive toward the bad area of town was fraught with you attempting to choke down your own vomit. As you passed the dilapidated buildings of downtown DC, you found yourself remembering one of your lowest lows, just outside Decatur, Georgia. 

Alone. All alone. Leslie’s not here to protect you anymore. “Tonight, under the bridge. Your client will be wearing black work pants, a red button down shirt and a black blazer. He’s got a tattoo of an infinity sign on his wrist. Don’t be late. You know what happens.”

You knew better than to disobey his orders. The last time you’d done that, you’d experience the swift strike of his calloused hand against your cheek. “Mae yourself useful, bitch. Or I don’t need you anymore.” How had you gotten into this?

Micah. The sweet, squeaky girl who’d asked if you wanted to party for money. In your desperation, you’d said yes. And now Leslie was gone and you answered to Rocco Mitchell. He owned your life. He owned you.

The tears stung your eyes as you continued to drive. It had been so long since you’d left that life behind. You scrounged and bled and cried for what you had. But you’d done it - on your own. Rocco Mitchell was your past. As you pulled up to where you were supposed to meet Ashton, you took a deep breath and wiped the tears from your eyes with the back of your sleeved arm. He couldn’t see you cry. You needed to put on the bravest face you possibly could and use his arrogance to take him down. It was that or die - and take down the ones you loved with you.

“Hello, Y/N,” he said softly, his smile making your skin crawl. He was about to hand you instructions on how to kill someone and he was smiling. “As I said before, you made a good choice. This is what you’ll need for the first one - Jennifer Jareau.”

Your heart dropped. When you looked down at your hands, you could tell by the shiny, black berries exactly what this was, and what you were supposed to do with it. It was Belladonna; the plant’s name was derived from the Italian for beautiful woman. “A perfect murder weapon for a beautiful lady like yourself,” he said, taking your palm and closing it gently around the bag of berries. “I figured I’d get her out of the way. For your sake. You’re a pawn in this, that’s all, but you do have feelings.” He shrugged. Feelings were something he wasn’t familiar with. He caressed the side of your cheek as you stared at him dead-eyed - trying not to pull away. Doing so would mean that he was getting to you, and he couldn’t see that. In this moment, you weren’t sure whether you hated Rocco Mitchell of Bentley Ashton more. If you were able to pull this ridiculously complex plan off, you’d follow Ashton to the ends of the earth to have your revenge.

There were 20 berries in your hand. A fatal dosage for an adult. “Do I need to use all of these?” you asked. You knew the answer, but you wanted to see if he knew exactly how fatal these were.

“Only a few at a time, over multiple days,” he said. “It needs to look believable. Three or four at a time would do until they’re all gone. I’ll contact you when I believe your first task has been completed.” She’s a task to you, you sick fuck? “Remember…say anything, and the man you love dies.”

With a deep breath, you turned and walked back to your car as his bodyguards came up behind you to make sure you drove away safely. Their presence put you even more on edge. The entire way home you shook with rage and fear and uncertainty. 

Fifteen minutes later, you arrived home and put the berries on the counter. You put your phone next to it and grabbed a glass of wine, desperate to numb all of the thoughts going on in your head. As you swigged down an enormous gulp of old wine, which was all you had, you saw your phone blink. When you opened it, you realized you had a ton of messages - mainly from Spencer. They all said that he hoped you’d feel better in the morning, and that he loved you.

The guilt rose up in your throat and the wine started to burn as it made its way back up. You barely spun around toward the sink in time to throw up. Sobbing, you hung your head over the sink and threw up repeatedly, the wine, and eventually just bile, stinging your insides and bringing more tears to your eyes. “I have to do this,” you said into the sink. Your words reverberated off the metal and hit you in the face. “It’s the only way to save them all, even if they hate me for it.”

It had to start tomorrow. If you hesitated, you’d never do it and Ashton would take matters into his own perfectly manicured hands. Three to five berries tomorrow. With any luck, you’d be able to pull this off.

—-

Your first week on the job had gone off without a hitch, at least to everyone else. In order to ‘thank’ everyone, you brought in coffees or smoothies for everyone. “Here you go, babe,” you said to Spencer, giving him a quick kiss before heading down the hallway to give Garcia her strawberry banana smoothie.

“Oh, so good and refreshing,” she sighed. “Thank you, dear. You didn’t have to do this, but if you want to bring me smoothies all the time Im definitely not going to fight it.” You flashed her the best smile you could and turned around in time to shield your quivering lip. How am I supposed to do this to her? To all of them?

One by one, you handed everyone his or her drink. JJ’s was last. The blueberry would mask the taste of the belladonna, which was somewhat sweet in and of itself. You did your best to mask your hatred of yourself as she took her first sip of her smoothie, but again you had to turn away and bury yourself in your work so that you wouldn’t give yourself away. Right now, the belladonna was coursing through her system. Within the next couple of hours, she’d be exhibiting the first signs of poisoning - dry mouth, enlarged pupils, blurred vision, a slight fever, and it would only get worse.

About 30 minutes later, you looked over and saw that she’d finished her smoothie. Why were the minutes ticking away so slowly? Why was your own vision blurry? Why couldn’t you focus? Everything was swirling around you, threatening to swallow you whole as you sat at your desk with your pen shaking in your hand. You wanted to work. You wanted to be of some use before they all realized what you’d done and who you really were, but you couldn’t do anything. The pen was floating above the paper, unable to move.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Each second slogged by, seemingly longer than the last. It felt like you’d been sitting at your desk, moving in slow motion for days, but it had only been a few hours. Suddenly, you were brought out of your guilt-induced coma by the sweet sound of your boyfriend’s voice. “You okay, JJ?” he asked, placing the back of his palm on her head. “I think you have a fever.”

“How did you learn that trick?” she laughed. “The back of the palm is a mom trick.”

“Actually, the front of the hand is innervated by the median and ulnar nerves, which come from the lateral and medial cords of the brachial plexus. But the back of the hand is innervated mostly by the radial nerve, which comes from the posterior cord, which carries the maximum number of nerve roots. It makes sense to use the side of the hand that carries the most nerve endings because they’re what feel temperature difference, so it’s actually very scientific,” he said quickly, proud of his vast medical knowledge despite not being that kind of doctor. ‘You seem to be drinking a lot of water. Is your mouth dry too?”

JJ nodded her head and took another long sip of water. “I can’t focus,” she said softly. “And the light is hurting my eyes.”

Spencer bent down slightly and tilted JJ”s head toward him. “Your pupils are enlarged. You could be coming down with something.” You swallowed, your tongue almost becoming larger in your mouth and nearly choking you.

“What’s wrong with me, Doctor?” she laughed. Her smiled broke you. She would hate you for what you’d done - and you didn’t blame her.

Spencer rattled off a variety of things it could be based on her current symptoms - bacterial pneumonia, viral pharyngitis, acute sinusitis. It could be a million things. If she only knew.

As Spencer continued to ask her how she felt and when her symptoms started, you walked as quickly as you could to the bathroom, once again retching up what you’d eaten recently. Thank god there was no one else in the bathroom, because you couldn’t manage to keep yourself quiet. The tears left your eyes almost as easily as the vomit left your throat and within minutes, you were shaking and crying on the bathroom floor. Even if you managed to save everyone’s lives and defeat Ashton once and for all, you would never forgive yourself for what you’d done. This was all your fault. If you’d just thought of another way to take care of yourself on the streets, you would never have met Rocco, and then Ashton would have nothing on you. You’d be with your team hunting down the bastard like you were meant to be.

“Compose yourself,” you said quietly to yourself. If everyone hates me when this is over, I can start a new life again.

Fifteen minutes later, you left the restroom and returned to your desk. “You feeling okay, Y/N?” Spencer asked, the concern on his face only making you feel worse.

“I don’t think whatever bug I had is fully out of my system.” You lied. “Just not feeling well still.” Apparently, JJ wasn’t either, because Hotch had told her to go home.

Spencer walked over to your desk, sat at your side and pulled you close to him. “I’m sorry you’re still feeling like shit. Maybe you should go home too? No use running yourself into the ground.” That’s what I should do. Escape this bullshit.

It took everything you had not to tense up at his embrace. How were you supposed to accept this comforting hug when you were actively hurting one of his best friends? There’s no way he was going to understand. If he did, it would be a miracle. “It’s okay.” You lied again. “I’ll just go home after work and go to bed early.”

The rest of the day slogged by. Although it was a little faster than before considering the evidence of what you were doing wasn’t staring you in the face. At 5pm on the dot, you got up to leave and Spencer followed closely behind. “Still gonna go home?” he asked. “Is there anything I can go?” God, I am a horrible person and I don’t deserve him.

“Just continue to be you,” you replied.

He kissed you on the forehead as you got into the elevator and made your way down to the parking garage. “Feel better, Y/N,” he said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Spence,” you said honestly. It was one of the most genuine things you’d ever said. For a few moments, you didn’t break his gaze, hoping that down the line, when he saw you for who you were, he’d remember this moment. The profiler in him would be able to remember the look in your eyes and knew you weren’t lying. “So much.”

Your wellspring of emotion caught him slightly off guard, but he was brought out of his confusion when his pocket rumbled.”Hello…Will?”

Oh no. You weren’t ready. Has the dosage you’d given her been enough to kill her? It shouldn’t have been. Spencer’s face dropped as Will spoke. “We’ve gotta go,” he said, his voice quivering with panic.

You did the best you could to shake the fear out of your voice before you spoke. “What’s wrong?”

“JJ started staggering around the house a few minutes ago, and then she collapsed.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Rocco, please…” you breathed. You couldn’t do this again tonight. The client had nearly broken your arm before leaving you half-clothed and bloodied in the alleyway just minutes away from Rocco’s home. When you’d texted him to tell him about your arm and…everything else he’d done to you, he swore up and down that the client was going to get what was coming to him…for the broken arm. Rocco didn’t like having his property damaged. You had a feeling you wouldn’t be seeing that particular client again. “I need a break tonight, please.”

Assignments were assignments. And you were all expected to taken them without question. Clients weren’t supposed to damage the property, and by damage, Rocco meant bruise, but no mater what happened, when you were given a client, you were expected to follow orders, or face the consequences. His voice resounded throughout the alleyway. “You don’t get a break! I give you a client, you take the client and show him a good time, or there’ll be consequences, bitch!” The tears stung at the corners of your eyes, and you tried not to let them go, but you were in such pain (your homemade split was not holding up well.) There was no way your body was going to handle the strain again. A half-hearted, quiet ‘please’ fell off your lips as you looked down at your feet, to scared to say anything louder and risk more pain.

“Come on, Rocco,” Leslie said, motioning down the line to where you stood. “I’ll take her client, just give her a break.” You didn’t care what anyone thought of whores and prostitutes. Leslie had your back and she was a goddamn angel.

Her offer fell on deaf ears. Rocco didn’t care. “She was asked for specifically,” he said, coming up to your side and caressing your cheek. “Her client has a thing for young ones.” At 15, just barely 15, you were one of the youngest prostitutes in the area, so you tended to get the perviest of clients.

“I’m only a year older than she is,” Leslie said again. You had to commend her or her bravery. She spoke up against him again. You were a coward. You could never do that. “I’ll take the client so she can rest for the-” But Rocco had walked down the line of girls and cracked her across the face, spinning her around and throwing her on the ground at your feet.

“Enough!” he screamed. “Not another word outta your damn mouth. I don’t care what you think you are. You think you’re her friend? Her protector? You’re not! You’re a goddamn whore!”

“I may be a whore, but she is my friend.” The next few seconds went by in a blur. Before you knew it, Rocco had pulled the gun from his pants, pointed it at Leslie and pulled the trigger. 

You cried out and looked down at the blood on your shirt. What just happened? Then you looked at the ground, spattered in blood and brain matter. No. No. No. No. “Noooooooooo!” you screamed, falling to the ground at her side and clutching on to her body for dear life. 

“Now get up!” he screamed. He grabbed you by the arm and shoved you out of the alleyway and toward your client. “Do your damn job and be lucky I let you live.” She was gone. He killed her. And it was entirely your fault…

\---

…You did this. JJ was in this hospital bed, surrounded by her husband and two little boys because you put her here. Again…again you’d been a coward. You didn’t stand up to Ashton and because of that, JJ was here.

“What’s the diagnosis?” you asked shakily as Spencer left JJ’s side. The dosage you’d given her shouldn’t have been enough to cause any significant side effects, unless she was already coming down with something before you’d dosed her.

Spencer shook his head, looking back into the room where the family say.   
“They don’t know,” he said honestly. “They are trying to figure out what blurry vision, dry mouth, staggering, a fever, and a sensitivity to light could indicate. It could be pneumonia, it could be some horrible form of the flu, could be meningitis or sarcoidosis.” He rambled off anything he could possibly think of. “Y/N, if anything happens to her…” His head dropped into his hands as he though of all the possibilities it could be. Involuntarily, you clutched at your arm and almost broke down. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Spence,” you said as convincingly as you could. To your ears, it sounded hollow.”It could be something really simple.” Although you’d been keeping yourself fairly under control, a small tear did manage to escape from the corner of your eye and travel down the side of your face, the salt from the liquid smacking you in the face like the hand of your former pimp. 

For a while, everyone just sat around the waiting room feeling helpless that there was nothing they could do. None of you even wanted to go in and visit for very long because JJ wanted time with her boys. All the while, you sat there praying she didn’t die. You never wanted this. You never wanted any of this. First, you’d lost Leslie and now you were hurting your boyfriend’s best friend. If she died because of you…you couldn’t think like that. “I’ll be right back,” you said quietly to Spencer, tapping his palm as you got up to go to the bathroom. For the third time in two days, you got sick over what your life had become.

“You’re still not feeling well?” Spencer asked upon your return. “Please don’t tell me you could have what JJ has.”

Heavily, you shook your head. “I’ve just got an upset stomach is all.” For days, you’d been doing your best not to break down completely, but everything was coming to a head and JJ wasn’t doing well.

Even if JJ got out of the hospital, you’d have to put her there again to make this plan work.

You couldn’t do it.

There was no way. You couldn’t lose someone else to your own cowardice. “You okay?” Spencer asked.

“I think I’m gonna go home,” you said, another few tears falling down your cheeks. “I feel so awful right now.”

He looked at you dumbfounded. Like how could you leave him right now when none of you had any idea what was going on with JJ. “Really?” he asked. “You’re gonna go now?”

As you turned toward the hallway, you gave him a small shrug. “I can’t do anything for her anyway. I’m no good to her if I’m sick. Keep me updated, okay?” you asked. He’d followed you down the hallway, so you were alone now. One last time, you said to yourself. Leaning in, you pulled him in by the back of the neck and pressed your lips to his. “I’ll see you later. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” he said sadly.

Before he could say anything else, you turned and walked quickly to your car. You wanted his last words to be the ones you’d just heard. As soon as you got home, you sat down at your desk and picked up a pen. How am I even supposed to begin this?

\---  
Dear Spencer,

I need the first words you read to be that I loved you. So much. I never wanted any of this, but I am a coward, and now here I am. There was a part of my past you didn’t know of - a gap that I never truly filled after telling you of my parents’ death. To keep things short, I became involved in something I never imagined and became someone I hated - all because I was too afraid to do anything else.

A Mr. Bentley Ashton, an unsub you’ve put away before that has recently been released, knew every single detail of my past. He approached me, blackmailed me, and cornered me into what happened tonight. JJ was poisoned with Belladonna. Instructions were given by Ashton, but I was the one that put them in her smoothie this morning. I tried only giving her enough to put her in the hospital, try and give myself time to find a way out of this, but now I think I’ve killed her and I can’t live with myself. Enough is enough.

I hope once I’m gone, you, and the rest of the team, can come to understand that I never wanted to do this. I loved you all. And I love you so much, Spencer. More than I ever thought I could love anyone. You were more than I deserved.

Please forgive me.

I love you,

Y/N  
\---

After you dotted your I’s and crossed your T’s, you gulped down a glass of wine and started to fill the bathtub, leaving the letter on top of the vanity counter. Once it was full enough, you stepped in, jeans, t-shirt and all, and kept the blade at your side. This is another situation you were all too familiar with - wanted to die. Last time had been the night Leslie was killed in front of you.

\---

“I’ll see mom and dad again,” you said to yourself, as you sat with your back against the brick wall of the alley where your client had dumped you. Everything hurt. Your arm was killing you, there was blood dripping down the side of your face from where he’d smashed it into the wall, the insides of your thighs were sporting fresh, deep purple bruises from where he’d pried your legs apart - you were one. You wanted your mommy and daddy again.

Reaching into a small bag you carried around, you pulled out a bottle of sleeping pills you’d found in the trash, figuring you could sell it for a couple cents it you really needed it. There weren’t many pills left, but one by one you swallowed them, hoping it would be enough to take you back to your parents. You couldn’t live like this anymore. Plus, the only friend you had at here was gone - and it was because of you.

As you closed your eyes, you pictured the park your parents took you to as a child. You pictured your mother’s shining smile and your father’s kind eyes and imagined the wind blowing through your hair as they pushed you through the air. You remembered the feeling of freedom. How you felt like you could do anything. They were the last images that played across your mind. After everything, after all of this, you’d be with Mom, Dad and Leslie again.

Enough was enough.


	5. Chapter 5

“How’s JJ doing?” Spencer asked, peeking his head into the room to talk to her husband. “Stable?”

Will shook his head and stood up carefully, attempting as much as he could to let the boys and his wife sleep. They’d been through so much. “She’s doing okay for now,” he said, his voice shaking with possibility. “Her symptoms haven’t gotten any worse, and the worst of it has stopped completely.”

“So she’s not staggering?” Spencer asked hopefully. He’d seen her standing and walking earlier, but he wasn’t sure if anything had changed. “No convulsions?”

“No, thank god,” he said, a little louder than he intended, which caused both boys to stir a bit. He continued in a whisper. “I would love to know what the hell caused this, but as long as she gets better, it’s fine. I just want her to come home. This scared the living crap out of me.” He shook his head again. Spencer could see the exhaustion written all over him.

“Me too,” Spencer sighed, smiling slightly as JJ slept soundly. “Y/N left about 30 minutes ago because she hasn’t been feeling well the past couple of days, so I’m actually going to go check on her now. I just wanted to make sure JJ was stable before I left.”

Will nodded slightly. He could tell Spencer was worried that Y/N might end up as sick as JJ. “Go take care of her,” he said, putting his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “I’ll call you if, or as soon as something changes.”

“Thanks, Will,” he said, turning away to head back out to the waiting room. “I’m glad she seems to be okay.”

“You and me both,” he laughed.

When Spencer turned away, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. He was happy that JJ seemed to be getting better, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Y/N. She wouldn’t have left JJ’s side if she hadn’t been feeling amazingly sick it wasn’t like her. As soon as he’d introduced the ladies of the BAU to his new girlfriend, they’d all banded together like they’d come out of the womb that way.

“Hotch,” Spencer said, passing his boss as he turned around and walked backward toward the exit. “JJ seems to be stable at the moment, so I’m going to go check on Y/N. She hasn’t been feeling well.”

With a slight nod of his head, Hotch gave a wave. “Tell her to feel better.”

—-

It was only about fifteen minutes later when Spencer pulled up to Y/N’s apartment building. There was no one outside, barely a car on the street - it was almost eerie. The streetlight blinked in and out of existence, almost struggling to hold on. A shiver ran up his spine. Something felt wrong. He couldn’t place it. But he didn’t like it.

After knocking on the door and not hearing an answer, Spencer pulled out his key that she’d given him six months earlier and entered himself. “Y/N?” he called. He heard nothing back. “Y/N?” he whispered this time. Maybe she was asleep. As he rounded the corner of the kitchen, he saw a sheen coming from just outside the bathroom door.

Confused, he inched closed, crouching down to the ground and dipping his fingers in it. Why was there a reddish liquid on the floor? Her plumbing had been on the fritz lately. He’d told her so many times to just bug the landlord about it, but she was forgetful, so she’d never gotten around to asking him to fix things. Figuring Y/N was asleep and that she needed her rest, he decided not to disturb her as he checked out what was wrong with the bathroom plumbing.

He pushed himself up from his crouching position and gently pushed the door open. The picture in front of him took his breath away, each second lingering for an hour as he rushed to her. “Y/N!” he cried. He screamed so loudly he lacerated his vocal chords. “Y/N!”

Reaching into the bathtub, he pulled her out and put pressure on both her wrists just after he checked her pulse. It was still there. Barely - it was thready…but it was still there. He needed to call 911. Using one knee to keep pressure on her wrist, he pulled out his phone with bloodied hands and dialed 911. “Hello, this is Spencer Reid, I need an ambulance at 947 Cheshire Drive. My girlfriend slit her wrists. Please hurry!” he sobbed, looking down at the pallor of her skin and choking on his sobs. “Hurry!”

“Don’t leave me,” he said, clamping down on her wrists as hard as he could. “Y/N, do you hear me? Don’t leave me, please.”

There was a strain in her eyes. “Let me go,” she breathed. “Better off without me.” Her body was too tired to cry, but the tears fell out onto the floor, mixing with the crimson sorrow seeping from her wrists. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” But he couldn’t get an answer. The second he asked, the medics ran in and took her from him, bandaging her wrists and putting her in the ambulance that would take her back to the hospital she just left.

As he emerged from the bathroom, he spotted a note. She’d written a suicide note. For a few moments, he stood in the doorway, wondering whether or not to read it, but he couldn’t. Why should he? She was going to be okay. And they were going to get through this.

With a deep breath, he walked out of the doorway, through the apartment and down the stairs, determined to ride with her in the ambulance. 

—-

“What the hell happened?” Emily asked as Y/N was brought in and rushed into the emergency room. The entire team stood up and stared in awe down the hallway. “What happened?” First JJ and now Y/N. This couldn’t possibly be happening. Hadn’t they been through enough already? They’d been through enough crap for five lifetimes.

Spencer was staring blankly in the middle of the hallway as the tears streamed down his face. “I just found her there,” he said, his voice cracking as he spoke. “She cut her own wrists. I never saw anything that would make me think she’d do this.” He sobbed, collapsing into Emily’s shoulder. “What would make her do this?”

“I don’t know,” she said, wrapping her hand around the back of his head as she looked toward the emergency room. “I’m so sorry. We’ll figure it out. We’ll help her…we’ll help her. It’s gonna be okay.”

—-

Not again, you thought to yourself. You could feel the bandages on your wrists. Why hadn’t it worked? What happened? This was the second time the universe failed to take you. Why didn’t it want you? You groaned, hearing a shuffling at your side. “Y/N? he breathed. “You’re okay.”

I am anything but okay. The tears began to well underneath your eyelids, which barely had the strength to open. As they spilled over, you could feel Spencer press his lips to your forehead. You felt so dirty. You weren’t deserving of this kind of love. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

He told you that it was okay. That you were going to get through this. But for the first time in his life, he had no idea what he was talking about. You repeated that you were sorry, over and over again, until you got so worked up that your vitals started to spike and the doctors had to escort Spencer from your room. “What’s wrong?” Rossi asked. “Is she awake?”

“She just kept saying she was sorry…I don’t understand.”

—-

The next morning, JJ was released from the hospital without a diagnoses for her symptoms. She could’ve left. Everyone would’ve understood that she was tired and wanted to go home, but she couldn’t not knowing what happened to Y/N the night before.

Shortly after JJ was told she could go home, you were told you could leave as well. Just like that, they patched you up and sent you out the door. The doctors had given you your clothes, but after you got changed, you sat on the bed like a brick, completely unable to move. “Hey,” Spencer said, popping his head into the room. When he came in, the rest of the team followed behind - including JJ. An unbelievable, but not diagnosable pain washed over you. It felt like you were being stabbed over and over again, and you would’ve welcomed that feeling right now. The tears started overflowing as you stared in awe at this group of people you didn’t deserve.

It was no that you risked everything. Your job. The love of your life. His life. The only friends you’d had since you lost Leslie. All of it was up in the air in this moment. You could not possibly go through with this plan. “I’m so sorry,” you spoke flatly. “I never meant for any of this.”

“it’s okay,” Spencer said, coming up to put his arms around you. “We’re going to get through this.”

Dammit all. “It’s not okay. I’m not talking about this. It was never about this!”You flailed your arms up and down, pushing Spencer gently away from you. The thoughts were a jumble in your head. The prevailing one was screaming at God to strike you down right now and put you out of your misery. The blood was coursing through your veins at such a pace that you could practically feel the blood seeping from your barely patched together wounds. “None of this is okay!”

“What’s wrong?” Hotch asked. When you looked at him, you could tell he knew something was wrong. Everyone else still assumed you were talking out of suicidal grief, because hey, who wouldn’t have been all a jumble after a failed suicide attempt.

Staring straight ahead, you looked at Spencer. “You didn’t read the note I left, did you?”

The color drained from his face and his lips started to quiver. “No,” he said. “I didn’t want to read your final words to me.” He already looked so hurt, his face drawn as he wished to take all your pain away. It took you a second to continue. You wanted to take in this look before it turned to one of hatred.

“You should’ve,” you said, taking the cuffs from Hotch’s belt and placing them in Spencer’s hands. “If you had, you would be cursing me right now.”

Before, his stance had been wavering at best, moving from side to side as he attempted to keep up his own strength to help you. Now? Now he was standing straight up, looking you square in the eye. “What did you do?”

Since you’d come back into consciousness, feeling the heaviness of your eyelids, you’d been angry. Angry at God. Angry at Ashton. Angry at Rocco. Angry at yourself. Angry at the universe. But the second you turned to face JJ, you broke. “I poisoned you.”

“What?” he asked, his breaths coming in heavy pants. JJ’s eyes started to water. It was clear she didn’t understand. But you really couldn’t either. Nothing made sense anymore. Had your life ever made sense? It had been so long, you couldn’t remember anymore. “What do you mean you poisoned her? Why? What with? I don’t believe you,” he rambled. “This is some kind of post-suicidal grief I don’t understand. It has to be.”

Sadly, you shook your head, holding your wrists out for Spencer to cuff. “I put Belladonna berries in her smoothie yesterday morning.”

When you looked around, their face ran the gamut. JJ was crying and confused. Garcia was openly sobbing. Derek looked like he wanted to murder you. Emily and Rossi looked like they didn’t know what life was anymore. And Hotch looked, well, like Hotch. In your year with Spencer, you’d never even seen him look at an unsub the way he was looking at you right now. Deep down, you could see a plume of love, blowing up as you stared at him, but in front of his eyes were fire. He hated you. Just like you knew he would. Without a word, he turned around and left the room, with Derek following closely behind. “Do we have to put the cuffs on you?” Rossi asked. Even now, knowing what you did to JJ, you could tell he wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. He wanted to believe that this was all some big mistake.

“I’ll come quietly,” you said. “Just protect him…please.”

Their eyes darted from side to side, unable to figure out where you were coming from, but no one asked. They didn’t have the strength. Within minutes, Hotch and Rossi were in your car, driving you back to the Bureau. Neither of them said a word. But you did catch Rossi glancing into the back seat. 

The drive back seemed to take forever and when you rounded each corner, you saw a piece of your former life flashing before you. Mom and Dad dying. Leslie dying. Face down on the floor as a client claimed your dignity. The drugs. Rocco smacking you across the face. Quivering in the corner as you begged a client to go easy on you. All of it plagued your mind. 

As you made your way with them up the elevator, everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. Hotch was about to take you into an interrogation room, when the rest of the team, JJ included, came up behind you. Spencer grabbed you by the arm, harder than he ever had before, and brought you into the lonely, isolated room. He was shaking, and you could tell he was going to leave you there to stew for a while. Let you sit with your own thoughts.

Before he left the room, he turned back slowly. You could feel the heat radiating off him as he spoke. It was taking everything in him not to kill you right now. “I don’t know what you did, or why, but I don’t care,” he said quietly, his voice steadier than it had been in days. “Come near my team, and I will end you.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Hotch!” Spencer screamed as his boss turned away and toward the interrogation room. He ran up behind him, refusing to let this go. How was he supposed to? “Hotch, you have to let me interrogate her.” He knew he shouldn’t, but he’d been lied to for a year. He’d slept with this woman…loved this woman…and she’d tried to kill one of his best friends. How else was he supposed to react?

For the second time, Hotch denied him. “You’re to close to this, Reid,” he said curtly. “You can’t be the one to interrogate her. You know that.”

“Hotch, please,” he begged. He was desperate for answers. Anything to help him make sense of his world. “At least let me be in the room, you can ask her the questions and I can sit in the background.”

“No, Agent Reid. You watch from the outside just like everyone else.” And with that, he turned around, leaving Spencer feeling like he wanted to punch a wall. He’d never felt that way in his life, but right now, there were a mess of emotions crawling their way through his brain and body and he wanted some way to get them out. Instead of punching something, he turned around and wrapped his arms around JJ.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, feeling guilty for letting Y/N into their lives.

She sighed, the tears having run out before. Now she was numb - and she wanted answers. “This isn’t your fault, Spence,” she said. “Let’s go.”

—–

it had been nearly an hour since Spencer threatened your life should you step near his team again. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but be proud of him. His team was his family and he would do anything to protect them. It was one of the many things you admired about him. Spencer obviously wouldn’t be the one to interrogate you; that would be a conflict of interest. It wouldn’t be JJ either, considering she’s the one you nearly killed. Your suspicion was that it would either be Hotch or Rossi.

Just as you drifted off into your own thoughts, open this time to letting them consume you and eat you alive, Hotch entered the room. Even in the short while you’d worked with him, you’d seen that face - the face that said ‘give me a reason not to kill you.’

“Agent, Y/L/N,” he started. “Walk me through what you did first. I don’t want to know why you did it right now, who put you up to it if anyone did. I want you to tell me exactly what you did.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the cold cuffs pull against your prickling skin. When you first opened your mouth, nothing came out, so in an attempt to steady your thoughts, you closed your eyes and repeatedly swallowed the lump in your throat. “I put four Belladonna berries into JJ’s smoothie yesterday morning.”

“Why four? Was four enough to kill her? Or was that not the goal?”

“It wasn’t meant to kill her,” you said, staring at the two-way window toward the right side, where you realized JJ had a tendency to stand. She wasn’t in here, but you wanted to talk to her. She needed to know…They all needed to know…Spencer…Spencer needed to know. “It wasn’t even meant to make her as sick as she got. I’m assuming she has a bit of a cold.”

“What was the point of making her sick?” he asked hotly, his eyes piercing into your head and boring holes into the wall behind you.

“The point was to eventually make her death look natural,” you said, choking on the last few words. “He wanted it to look natural.”

As soon as you uttered that word, he, you felt a change in the air. Even on the other side of the glass, you could tell that everyone wanted to know who the he was, and you had officially put a target on Spencer’s head. Ashton said he’d kill Spencer if you told anyone. “Who is he?” Hotch asked. “Someone put you up to this?”

“Bentley Ashton,” you whispered.

A look of recognition flashed across his eyes. You saw the cogs turning in his brain. “We put I’m away for murder nearly 10 years ago and he was recently released. No doubt due to his connections.”

Just slightly, you nodded your head. “Yes, he approached me shortly before I started.”

“And said what? Introduced himself and said hey kill a member of my team?” It wasn’t like Hotch to sass anyone. When he did, it was angrily.

Since Spencer had brought you inside, you’d gone number, but the interrogation was bringing everything back. It was bubbling under your skin and threatening to rip you apart. “He said I had to kill everyone, but Spencer, or else…” Even now you couldn’t say why. Why were you such a coward? Had everything your parents taught you been beaten out of you on the streets? “He said he wanted payback for you putting him away ten years ago.”

“What did he threaten you with that made you take him up on this deal?” he asked. The question was asked hotly, but he was also genuinely curious.

Another moment of truth. “He said…” you started, swallowing some to get rid of the dryness in your throat. “He said to carry out his plan, or else he would kill Spencer…and expose my past.”

“What past?” And why wasn’t he going to hurt Reid?”

The tears stung your eyes as you forced yourself to put the next thought into past tense. “Because I was dating him. He said that would make it to obvious.” Your hands were cuffed, but not to the table, so you brought your hands up and covered your face as you sobbed. “I never wanted any of this! I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t even be here, I should’ve died years ago.”

“What past was he going to expose?”

How were you supposed to say this out loud? That you stupidly got tricked into being a prostitute for one of the nation’s biggest drug dealers and pimps. That at the age of 34, you couldn’t count the number of men that had been inside you and robbed you of your dignity. For more than a few moments, you stared off into the distance, begging the moment to disappear and float away.

Hotch was a patient man, especially when there were no time constraints, so he was fine to let you stare off into space, but you were jerked out of your thoughts when the door slammed into the wall so hard that the piece of doorknob that hit the wall actually cracked. “What past did you not want us to know about?” Spencer screamed, getting right up in your face. His own was beat red with anger and he slammed his hand down on the table before Hotch reprimanded him and Morgan came in to hold him back.

He couldn’t hit you. He couldn’t scream in your ear. But that didn’t stop him from screaming. “What could’ve possibly been so awful?!” His yelling brought you back to the many times Rocco had yelled like that. You knew Spencer wasn’t Rocco, but the memories were still there and it kept you from speaking. He deserved to yell - you could give him that. “Huh? What is it, Y/N? What could’ve possibly convinced you that any of this was okay?”

“I never thought any of it was okay!” you screamed back, the tears overflowing when you finally looked at him. “Nothing about my life has ever been okay!”

Even Morgan had to tighten his grip to hold Spencer back from you. “Then what was it?!” he screamed again. 

“I was a whore!” you cried, your head falling into your hands again. “After my parents died, I had nowhere to turn, and like a stupid child, I got tricked into a life I never intended to lead. I was ashamed.” You sobbed openly, no longer trying to conceal anything from anyone.

With the floodgates open, you couldn’t stop yourself from screaming. You stood up and got right up into Spencer’s face just as he’d done to you. Hotch had gotten up from his seat, thinking you were going to attempt to hurt Spencer, but you couldn’t Of course they couldn’t believe that under the circumstances. “I’ve been beaten! I’ve had my bones broken by the men that paid for me. I’ve been raped. I’ve had knives used against my skin because the rush of torturing and raping a 15-year-old girl got my clients off. I’ve been left on the side of the road with my thighs and vagina in too much pain to walk! I’ve been used as a drug mule! My only friend on the streets was murdered in front of me because I asked for a break and she had offered to take my client to let me rest. After all that, I tried to kill myself!” Your throat was raw, but you couldn’t stop. “But I had nothing. I had no money. So the only way I could think of doing it was to swallow the half a bottle of sleeping pills I had found in the trash. The next morning, I woke up in a pool of my own vomit. I took it was a sign that I was meant to do something with my life, so I pushed myself up. I walked away from the town I grew up in. Hid in sewers and pipes and abandoned buildings to make sure my pimp wouldn’t find me and kill me, or worse, rape me too, because he liked to do that if I haven’t mentioned it already, and send me back to my old life. I clawed my way up. I begged and cried and bled to get where I am now, and then that bastard came up to me and threatened to take it all away or he’d expose my past and kill you.”

For a few moments, the heaviness of your confession weighed them down. “Despite what you think, Spencer Reid, I love you more than I thought I could love anyone after my parents died. I was trying to think of a way to trick Ashton, to get you all to bring me in here, so that I could tell you his plan and hopefully take the fucker down, but I needed more time, so I put the berries in JJ’s drink. And I hate myself. I thought I hated myself then, the many times I had my face mashed into the ground while a strange man pushed himself inside me, but watching as JJ convulsed…I’ve never hated myself more.”

Collapsing back into the wall and slipping down, you started to scream, pulling at your hair as you buried your head in your knees. When you looked up again, everyone was still there, except Spencer. “Y/N,” Hotch said. “Until we can determine just how culpable you are, I’m going to need you to hand over your badge and gun.”

Your gun had already been taken from you, but the badge was still on you. Just over a week in the job you’d always wanted, and with a snap of your fingers it had all been taken away. Without looking up, you handed your badge to whoever was there.

“Please,” you said softly, repeating yourself at Morgan’s insistence. “Please protect Spencer. Ashton has all the money you could possibly need. He said he’d kill Spencer. Please don’t let him die.”

“We protect our own,” Morgan said, turning away and walking out.

Hotch swallowed hard and walked out, followed by Emily and JJ, leaving only Rossi and Garcia in the room. As soon as Spencer had introduced you to the team, you had gravitated toward Rossi. He reminded you of your father, and apparently, you reminded him a lot of his daughter, Joy. You could tell he hurt for you, but he needed time to process what you’d just said and walked out of the room. Garcia was the only one left. The perfect ray of sunshine that the world didn’t deserve. 

“Y/N,” she said softly, crouching down to meet your gaze. She grabbed your hands. She grabbed your hands. “I don’t think you could’ve gone through with it…JJ, I mean. I don’t understand. And I need time…but I’m so, so sorry for what you went through. I don’t care who you are. No one deserves that.” As another sob choked out of you, your head fell into your knees, and against all odds, you felt Garcia lay her head on top of yours. “I’m so sorry, honey.”


	7. Chapter 7

How long have I been here? It felt like you had been crying for ages. Penelope had long since left your side, but you didn’t blame her at all. She has already given far more than you ever expected or deserved. As you sat in a ball on the floor, you made a vow to yourself to find this bastard, put him behind bars for the rest of his miserable life, and then, and only then, would you allow yourself to cry again.

You had already done enough crying for a thousand lifetimes. Too many deaths had befallen the ones you loved. Too many nights were spent crying into the ground as you struggled to maneuver out from under your clients. Too many instances spent wishing you were dead, whether due to feeling tainted by your circumstances, or missing the past that blinked like a beacon in the distance begging you to remember. You had done enough crying. It was time to flip the script.

Shit had been done. Shit you would never be able to take back. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t try and right the situation as best you could. Not for anyone else. Not in the hopes that Spencer or your friends wouldn’t hate you, but for yourself, so that once in your life you could feel as though you’d done the right thing for the right reason.

Pushing up from the floor, you felt your muscles tighten and relax in off-putting patterns, keeping you in pain and on your toes as you walked out of the room and toward Garcia’s office, where you assumed at least she, if not the rest of the team would be. “Hey,” you said as you walked into the room. JJ jumped from her position. It killed you. Someone you’d considered a friend couldn’t feel safe around you. In actuality, most of them probably didn’t. You have to earn it again, Y/N. Inwardly, you took a deep breath. You didn’t expect anything did you? It’s going to take a long time for her, or any of them, to trust you again…if they ever do, but that isn’t what this is about. This is about Ashton. “What are you looking into Garcia?”

“Didn’t you have your badge and gun taken away? Morgan asked angrily, looking at Hotch in hopes that he’d back him up. You were pretty sure he would, and you wouldn’t have blamed him, but instead, he answered Morgan.

“She has the most intimate knowledge of Bentley Ashton and his life now. We need her to find him. And in my eyes,” he said, turning toward you, “It will be your chance to prove where your loyalties truly lie.” Everyone seemed okay with that, except Spencer and Morgan.

You took a deep breath and replied. “I realize you’re not doing this for me, but I appreciate being given the chance to catch this man. Even if that’s all I do, it’ll be one of the few good things I’ve done in my life.” And there were few. Being you parents’ daughter, Spencer’s lover, and Leslie’s friend were the only other good decision you’d made.

Trailing off your train of thought, you walked up behind Garcia and asked what information she needed from you so that she could start a search. When you looked up, you caught Spencer’s eye. If you hadn’t just promised yourself minutes earlier to not cry until Ashton was found, you could’ve broken down again. Spencer was spitting fire into you: you could practically feel him during you from the inside out. Instead of focusing on it, which would no doubt cause you to sob uncontrollably despite the promises you made yourself, you urned back toward Garcia. “What can I tell you that’ll help?”

“The truth for one,” Spencer said under his breath. Morgan and Garcia were the only other two close enough to hear him. As much as you loved him, and still love him even now, if there was one flaw that Spencer had, it was his passive aggressive nature. You wished he’d just tell you he hated you and get it over with, rather than mutter to himself.

Garcia swallowed the tension like the pro she was and turned toward you. “Do you remember where you met him when…when he told you about what he wanted you to do?” You gave her the address and she ran it through the system, watching as it popped up immediately. 

“If he has eyes everywhere, or even anywhere, as he claimed, he’s going to know that I told you everything, so he’s not gonna be there. He’ll either run, pay someone to kill me, considering his plan to use me is ruined, or to torture me further, he’ll send someone after Spencer.” You didn’t look up, knowing he would take your genuine care as false, but instead turned to Hotch. “Obviously, I can’t tell you what to do. But my suggestion would be to have two officers standing guard outside Spencer’s apartment.”

“There will be two officers outside both of your apartments for the foreseeable future,” he said. Morgan huffed. He wants me dead. Spencer said nothing, undoubtedly not trusting himself to speak just yet. Again, you found it astounding that Hotch was going to waste Bureau resources on you. If you were in his shoes, you’d see you as a waste…

“Y/N’s right,” he started up, keeping his eyes glued to the computer screen. “More than likely, he’s not going to be there, but we have to cover all bases.” As the team made their way out of Garcia’s office, Hotch turned back to you to say that you wouldn’t be accompanying them.

“Understood, sir,” you said, watching as the team left on their fruitless mission.

Why were your eyes so hot? Why were they floating around in your head? Had you not done enough crying? No. You refused. You inhaled hard, wiping the ability to cry from your memory. This was not the time or the place. “I’m sorry,” you whispered again.

Garcia came up behind you and place her hand on your shoulder. “What did the world do to deserve you?” you asked her, the impossible ghost of a smile flitting across your face. There were people that were one in a million, and then there were people who literally had no equal on this planet. Garcia was one of them. After all the shit you’d done, she still managed to find it in that heart of hers, the one that couldn’t possibly have been housed in her small frame, to have compassion for you.

“I’m not a profiler,” she said softly. “But I would like to think that I know people pretty well - at least those close to me. I want to claim that I wouldn’t have done what you did, but I can’t. Not with your past, not when he was threatening Reid. There are just too many variables to consider what any one of us would or wouldn’t have done.”

Garcia had lost her parents too. Also in a car accident. And she wasn’t much older than you when it happened. How did she still hold so much joy in her heart? One day you’d have to ask her how she managed. “You lost your parents in an accident too?” she asked.

With a heavy heart, and even heavier, tired muscles, you nodded. “I was 15. They were going away for a couple of days for their anniversary.”

“I mean…I lost my parents too,” she said softly. “But I can’t imagine going through what you’ve gone through. I know you have a lot of things to work through, but…you were a child.”

You sighed. True. But you should’ve known better. “I was a smart child, or so I thought. What did I expect walking away from my foster home? That I was going to fin my way by myself at 15 and somehow live the perfect life? I should’ve stayed there.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked. Neither of you had moved from your place in the doorway.

You started laughing ironically, taking Garcia off guard. “I left because I had a bad feeling about the father in the house. I thought he would touch me. And look where I ended up?” You started banging your head against the wall, wondering what you had done in a past life to make this one so fucked up.

“Love, I’m so sorry,” she said. “Do you want to go grab some coffee while we wait for them to get back?” It seemed so normal. Like such a normal thing to do. Everyone got coffee. Honestly, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to achieve normal anytime soon, so you took her up on her offer and followed her to the cafeteria. The coffee machine was broken…of course.

Nearly a half hour later, the team finally returned, with the news you’d expected. “He wasn’t there,” Morgan said, ripping his vest off and throwing it against his desk. With a strained smile, Garcia turned away and went to comfort Morgan.

Hotch turned to the rest of the team as well as yourself and said that you weren’t going to get anywhere tonight. Everyone needed to go home and return in the morning. “Do you want me to come in, sir?” you asked, realizing that you’d resorted to calling him Sir again rather than Hotch. That nickname was earned, and you needed to re-earn it. “Or should I stay home?”

“No, come in first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, sir…I just need to grab a couple things from my desk.” He nodded his head and turned to his office. You wondered if he ever slept. There was a bet raging within you that he didn’t actually sleep - ever. He was a superhuman that didn’t need sleep to function. As he closed the door to his office and sat down to start paperwork, the superhuman bet took root in your brain.

Once you grabbed everything from your desk, you headed to the restroom before leaving. When you walked down the hallway, you passed Spencer. He was doing everything he could not to make eye contact with you.

“Hotch!” You heard Morgan yell from the office. “I get staking officers outside Reid’s apartment, but hers?! She tried to kill JJ, why are you wasting Bureau resources on her?”

A waste.

Your breath caught in your throat. Just because you thought it yourself, didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to hear it from someone else. If you were Hotch, you wouldn’t have spent any valuable Bureau resources on you. “Morgan, I understand your anger, but she’s an asset.”

Asset.

For some reason, that hurt more than whore. Maybe it was because Rocco’s opinion meant nothing to you, while theirs meant everything. You were an asset. That’s all you were. A piece of property to be protected until you outlived your use. Make yourself useful, bitch. An asset.

That’s all you were.

That’s probably all you’d ever be.

The second your returned home, not caring whether the officers were staked outside or not, you fell into the couch, your eyes closing before you even hit the cushion. After Ashton was caught, you could figure out what meaning your life had. For now, sleep was all you could muster.


	8. Chapter 8

Every nerve in your body was on fire. Every twitch of your muscles brought you unbelievable pain, coursing through you like a rollercoaster out of control. Every time you tried to open you eyes, your body willed you not to. That didn’t actually happen, right? You questioned yourself as your muscles screamed while you pushed off the couch. Nope, it was all real. When you looked toward the counter near the coffee pot, where you normally kept your gun and badge, you saw they were missing. Correction, they weren’t missing. They had been taken away after Ashton messed up the life you built for yourself.

Hotch said he wanted you to come in, so you made your way through the molasses that was your apartment and stepped into the shower, doing everything you possibly could and using every lotion you had to try and make your body feel better, but nothing was working. It was as if you were walking through quicksand.

After pulling on an outfit, you went toward the kitchen, again, to grab the gun and badge that weren’t there. When you realized it for the second time that morning, you spun around and knocked a vase off the counter, shattering it into a million pieces. You walked to the window and forced yourself to breathe. “Throwing a tantrum isn’t going to get you anywhere,” you muttered aloud, bending down to pick up the pieces of the broken vase. Thankfully, it was a random vase and nothing special, so you threw the pieces out and returned underneath the window to sop up the water on the ground. 

When you stood up, you did a double take as the chills ran up your spine. You could’ve sworn you saw the unnaturally white smile of the man that stole your life from under you, but you stared out the window and saw nothing. It wasn’t wise to give yourself time to think, so you grabbed your bad and drove into work on autopilot. 

Once you’d pulled into the parking garage, you tried to calm yourself before going in. “Your time is later, his is now.” Every minute you sat here was another minute Ashton had to evade the grasp of the BAU.

By the time you got upstairs, everyone was already in, except Derek - at least you couldn’t see him. Maybe he was already here. To be honest, you were convinced that once you had gone home for the night, they returned to get work done without you. “Morning,” you muttered softly. You couldn’t bring yourself to say good morning, because it wasn’t.

“Where are we on locating him?” you asked. Let’s just cut to the chase. You could feel the tension in the room. They didn’t want you here and you were uncomfortable being in their presence knowing they would never truly trust you again.

Spencer muttered something under his breath about how you’d be a lot closer if you had come clean to begin with. You ignored him. To do anything else would result in a fight and this wasn’t the time or the place to air your dirty laundry with Spencer. If he wanted to bitch you out, it would have to be done another day. Garcia looked up from her computer, which she’d brought into the round table room. “Hey,” she said quickly, neglecting to add her usual trademark perkiness into the mix because she was so far, the only one that didn’t hate your guts. “I got in about two hours ago because I couldn’t sleep, so after I chugged down an extraordinary amount of coffee, I started tracking down every place that Ashton has lived or worked throughout his life, whether it be from before or after we put him away.”

“That sounds like it’s gonna be a lengthy list,” Rossi said, looking down toward where you sat with a piteous look in his eye.

Garcia allowed her fingers to flow over the keyboard and waited until she heard the machine printing outside. She was getting a hard copy for Spencer, because even in 2017, he didn’t want to move into the digital world. After returning with his papers, she sent the information to everyone’s devices and started in on the explanation. “This slippery son of a bitch has lived and worked in all corners of the globe, so I’m assuming we’re going to have to narrow down this list before we start looking for him.”

“Definitely, babygirl,” Morgan said, coming into the room and stiffening as he saw you. Without a word, he moved between you and Garcia and moving you aside. He didn’t want you anywhere near anyone. Swallowing everything you wanted to say to everyone, you moved toward the corner of the room and went over the list of places that Ashton had lived. Garcia wasn’t joking. He literally had lived all over the world. He’d had homes in LA, New York, Atlanta, Washington DC, London, Paris, Glasgow and Thurso, Scotland and Hong Kong. And that was only where he’d lived. Add working areas and his opportunities for escape were literally endless. 

Immediately, one thought came to your mind. “Garcia, do any of those countries have extradition policies regarding the U.S., specifically not extraditing someone back to the United States?” You were directing all your questions to Garcia because she was the only one who wasn’t looking at you with utter hatred, but Hotch was the one to answer.

“No,” he said quickly. “China won’t extradite, except for Hong Kong, so we can’t narrow it down by that.”

Dammit. You curse yourself and rubbed your temples, trying to make everything go away. “Okay,” Spencer said out of nowhere, coming out of his thinking space after what seemed like an eternity. “When it comes to where he’s lived, we can get rid of any of his homes that he lost when he was put away, more specifically if they were resold to someone else. He’s looking for an escape route, so he’s not going to draw any unwanted attention by killing someone who’s in an old property. He’s going to go to one he hasn’t lost. He lost nearly three-quarters of his wealth after he was put away, but he still owns a lot.”

Of course. That made complete sense. You should’ve thought of it. Spencer shot you a look as Garcia rifled through all of his properties, knocking item after item off the list. After nearly two hours, you’d determined that he wasn’t going to be in the United States. Despite no existing extradition treaties, it would be more beneficial for him to leave the U.S. “How do we even know that any of this is true?” Spencer blurted out amongst the silence. It ripped through the air, making your head shoot up to look at him. So he wanted to air your dirty laundry, so be it. “Why are we taking her word on this man? How can we be sure she’s telling the truth?”

You expected this. To be counted. But you were on the defensive anyway. “What purposed would I have to lie about this man?” you retorted hotly. “Look, I get that you are beyond pissed at me, and hurt, and are all undoubtedly going to hate my existence for the rest of my life, but you’re telling me, Spencer Reid, that after a year of sleeping together you can’t tell whether or not I’m telling the truth?”

“I used to think I knew you.” He lifted his hand to his mouth to try and stop himself, but he couldn’t. “I used to think you would never do anything to hurt me. And then this. I don’t know how to trust you.” His eyes watered, but he kept the tears at bay. Everyone was staring between you both, searching for something to say that would get you off this topic and onto something else, and then Rossi spoke up.

“Reid, did you ever tell Y/N about Bentley Ashton?” Spencer shook his head. “Then where would she have gotten that name unless he approached her?” Thank you, Rossi. Whether or not he trusted you, at least he was trying to make a case for trusting you now.

Spencer didn’t want to admit that Rossi was right, he wanted to hold onto his anger, so he said nothing, switching to narrowing down Ashton’s European and Asian holdings. But you couldn’t focus. You couldn’t shake this feeling. What was it? Were you angry with Spencer? With yourself? Yes, but that wasn’t it, at least not right now. Were you sad? No, that wasn’t it…it was pity. After everything you’d been through in your life, this is what it had become? It wasn’t fair. “Y/N?” Emily asked, bringing you out of your haze. “Anything that might help?”

“I’m sorry,” you replied. “What was the question?”

“Is there anything that he said to you that might indicate where he was going to go?” She repeated. Maybe there was something deep down that you might remember. Not like code or anything, but maybe something he said was indicative of where his needs were - other than money. As you filed through the brief conversations you had with him in your mind, there was only one common denominator.

With a deep breath, you said the word. “Family.” That thing you had once, no twice, no three times in your life only to have all of them ripped from your grasp. Spencer’s eyes bore into you. He thought of you as family - rather he did. Now he didn’t know how to feel. Morgan wanted to spit in your general direction for even mentioning the word. “He kept talking about how he lost everything. How wife left him. Took the kids. The way he spoke, I don’t think he expects that he’ll ever get them back, but my belief is that he’ll find some way to keep the memory of ‘his’ perfect life, the one he ‘deserves’, alive. Are any of the properties on his list ones that he frequented on vacations with his family?” You choked the last bit out, feeling the emotion nearly overwhelm you. Would you ever have that again? You needed to step outside.

A huff escaped you as you got up. When Hotch called after you to ask where you were going, you screamed back. “Fresh air.”

The second you got outside, you broke your promise to yourself yet again. Crying. Fuck it, after all you’d been through, you deserved to cry. Slouching against the wall, you rested your head in your hands and sobbed, the tears threatening to drown you. If someone were to ask you what you wanted in this moment, you would’ve told them all you wanted to do was be alone - other than have your entire past disappear and pretend this never happened. But if you couldn’t have that, you wanted to be alone. Apparently, the universe was against you even in this small way, because all of a sudden, you saw a set of footsteps you recognized as Rossi’s

Other than Garcia, you’d gotten closest with Rossi after being introduced by Spencer. Since he reminded you of your father, you gravitated toward him. Once, about three months after you started dating, you went to dinner with the team and afterwards, you went for a walk in the park. That night, Rossi pulled a ball off the ground and he started throwing it to you. You used to do that with your dad. Or at least, you remembered doing it. “What do you want, Rossi? you asked, almost painfully. “Do you want to yell at me too? Tell me how much I shouldn’t be here? What an awful human being I am? Because honestly, I can’t deal with it right now.” The tears built a dam-like wall against your eyes and stayed there. “I regret what I did…but I didn’t know what else to do. Spencer was more important than anything to me…he still is.”

“I know,” he said, taking you off guard and breaking the dam within you. “I came to check on you.”

“Why?” you asked, your voice shaking with self-hatred. “After what I did to JJ, why would you care about me at all?”

He took a deep breath and sat by your side. “After more than 30 years in the field, I’d like to say I’m an expert on human behavior,” he started, placing his hand on your back. “All of us are. You can never predict a person’s behavior with 100 percent accuracy, and that accuracy is even less when it comes to ourselves. It’s much easier to look at someone else, and ‘cast the first stone,’ as opposed to looking at ourselves. What I mean to say is, no matter what anyone in there says, if they were faced with the same situation that you were, more than likely, they would save that one person they loved at the risk of everyone else.”

That’s what you’d thought, but you weren’t sure whether that was your guilt speaking or not. “I’d like to think so. Hotch would do it for Jack. JJ would do it for Henry or Michael or Will. If someone came after Joy, I’m sure you’d do anything to save her, including killing someone. The only difference is that none of you found yourself in this situation. None of you found yourselves having to decide between killing your friends or possibly risking the life of the man you loved. I’m not proud…” you choked. “I hate myself for what I did. The guilt follows me around, like a shadow of myself. That’s probably why my muscles feel so heavy. And I think they always will to some degree, but I want to help. I want to do something right with my life. I want to feel like I’m useful to someone before I leave this mortal coil! Is that so much to ask?!” You screamed the final bit, once again allowing your head to fall into your hands. “Rossi, it’s been so long since I’ve felt like myself. I don’t know what the real one is, and I don’t know who I am. I just want to be a good person. What I can remember of my parents is good…I just wanna make them proud of me. Even if it’s only once…”

Rossi stood up and grabbed your hands. “Then let’s go find this bastard. Look, Y/N,” he said, tilting your chin up to meet his. “I believe you. I believe this man put you up to this. I believe you never wanted to do this. You were put in an impossible situation. I truly believe that any of us would’ve done the same - or at least considered it. And if one of them says they wouldn’t consider it, they’d be lying, because I know I would have. I also believe I can forgive you for what you’ve done…but only if you come back upstairs and help us find him.”

Your body gave out and you tilted into Rossi’s embrace. “I’m sorry, Rossi. I’m so sorry. I’ll find him. I swear. I’ll make my parents proud…I’ll make you proud…I promise.” When you looked at him, you saw your father - you’d be damned if you disappointed him.

“Let’s go get him.” Maybe there was hope. Maybe everyone wouldn’t hate you when this was over. Maybe, there was some way, somehow, to make things right.


	9. Chapter 9

When you returned upstairs and were back in the presence of those you loved the most, whatever conversation had been taking place cut off and everyone immediately looked in your direction. Looks of pity, understanding, confusion, hatred - were all worn by members of your team. “Are you all good to go now?” Morgan asked hotly. The snark was oozing out of him, and had it not been for Rossi’s words just moments earlier, you were pretty sure you would’ve started crying. You loved everyone everyone on this team more than your own life: it was only because Spencer had been threatened, and you loved him above all else, that you ended up in this position. 

“I’m ready to get to work,” you said flatly, sitting back down in the corner of the room. If no one wanted to be near you then that was his or her prerogative. 

Morgan sat down next to Garcia, who shot you a quick look of ‘you’ll get through this’ before turning to her Sculpted God of Chocolate Thunder. “What do you have on the vacation homes for Ashton, babygirl?”

“How does one person have so much money?” she asked wildly, flailing her hands around as she pulled up Ashton’s vacation homes. “I mean does he literally just buy a multi-million dollar house, spend a week in and then leave? This man has no idea how to spend his money. He should give some to me, I’ll help him out-”

“Garcia,” Hotch said sternly. “What do we have?”

“He’s got a condo in Hong Kong that he’s been to multiple times, mostly just before he was put away. He’s got a house in Thurso, Scotland that they used to go to a lot when he first got married, but they haven’t been there in a while. And their apartment in Paris is still under his name. He had to sell off most of his European holdings while he was in prison, undoubtedly in order to pay himself out. His United States properties are mostly still in his name, but those are the only three international.”

“Then based on the family theory, it makes the most sense that he would head to the house in Thurso,” Hotch said, glancing your way. “It would hold the most memory for him.”

Emily agreed, taking a sip of her coffee before speaking to the room. “If he’s salty about losing his family, and that’s what he wants to hold on, then going back to the home he share with his wife and young son would make the most sense.”

“Wheels up in thirty,” Hotch said.

Maybe this would be over soon.

—-

Ten hours. It was a ten-hour flight to Scotland. With the jet, it would take a little less than nine, but that still meant nearly nine hours of silence. Nearly nine hours of sitting in your own head. Garcia wasn’t coming with you, so you didn’t have her to talk to and Rossi was exhausted, so he was sleeping in the corner.

The only thing keeping you going was the fact that within the day, this might all be over. At least if Ashton was in custody, you might be able to begin the healing process with the ones you loved. With work, you might be able to repair the relationships you’d broken.

Without anyone to talk to, you found your eyes getting heavier and heavier by the second. There was no point in staying awake anyway. No one was talking to you. Maybe if you slept some, you’d wake up and be there. Then this would be over.

\----

What was that at the corner of your mouth? Had it rained during the night?

You were awake. You were alive. Why were you alive?

As you pushed off the ground and opened your eyes, you pulled out the compact that Leslie had given you. She was dead. You tried to kill yourself. It hadn’t worked. There weren’t enough pills. Looking in the mirror, you realized you’d thrown up in the middle of the night. You’d woken up in a pool of your own vomit. This is what you had become. 

Had it already been nearly a year of this? Legs spread, mouth closed as staring men robbed you of your dignity. You wouldn’t live through another year of this. You wiped the vomit off your chin and ran through back alleys, hiding behind garbage bins, scraps of metal - anything that you could feasibly hide behind. As you hid behind a particularly large dumpster, you pulled off your heels - the ones that Rocco insisted you wear whenever you work - in order to run faster. Nothing could slow you down now. Not when you woke up with a sense of purpose. You hadn’t died. Those pills should’ve been enough, especially in your weakened state, but you hadn’t died. That had to mean something. That had to mean you were meant to do something with your life. But you couldn’t stay here.

Everything had to change. You needed to leave your hometown. No one could know who you were. From this day forward, you were no longer the daughter of Jonathan and Michelle Connors. You needed a name.

Y/F/N Y/L/N. You’d always loved that name.

One of your friends from high school was an expert hacker. If you could get to him, you could get him to give you a new identity. Alec, you had to get to Alec. The more you ducked and ran and dove, the more paranoid you became, that Rosso would somehow find you and take you back. If he did, you would die.

But last you heard, Alec was two towns over.

For hours, you ran. You hid. You did whatever needed to be done to make sure you weren’t found by Rocco or one of his guys. Drainage pipes? You fit your malnourished body into them. Sewers? Check. Dumpsters? Those too. It would all be worth it, if you could change the course of your life. It was nightfall before you found yourself in Alec’s town. Finally, you found him.

“Alec?” you whispered. He was sitting in his yard fucking around on his computer like he always did.

The second he turned around, he recognized you. “Where have you-?”

“Alec, I don’t have time to explain. Will you create a new identity for me? I need to escape. If I stay here, I’ll die.” The strain in your voice surprised you. You’d never heard yourself so desperate. Even last night. Maybe it was because last night, you figured you were as good as dead, and today you had more hope.

Little else was spoken between you as he hacked every system he could. “It’s going to take me a day or two to get the papers, but I can do it.”

“Thank you, Alec. Do you know of any place to hide for a couple of days?”

His parents were gone for the weekend, so he let you stay in the basement. Alec was a good guy. He never asked what happened to you. He could see on your face that you didn’t want to explain. What he did was enough. He allowed you to sleep in his home, take a shower, and even gave you some of his old baggy clothes.

Two days later, you were set up with a new passport, new social security card, new everything. Your name was no longer - you were Y/F/N Y/L/N. “Thank you, Alec. I will never be able to thank you enough for this.”

“Y/N?” he asked as you turned to leave - to run once more.

One more turn back. One more peek into the past. “Yea?”

“Good luck.”

With a wave and a tear, you ran out the front door of Alec’s home. You ran and ran and ran. Honestly, you weren’t sure where. But it was going to be far away from here. You may not have had your parents’ name any longer, but you would make them proud. You would make Leslie proud. Take her on the ride she never got to take herself. You would make yourself proud. Past be damned.

\----

“Y/N?” It was Rossi.

“Wha-? What?” A sheen of sweat draped over your body like a robe.

Rossi placed his hand on your shoulder. “You were tossing and turning. It looked like you were having a nightmare, so I thought I’d wake you up. Plus we’re almost there.”

An hour later you were in Wick, which was just 30 minutes from Thurso. As Hotch drove, your heart raced. You were so close. “We’re here,” he said. When everyone got out, he pointed the team towards opposite ends of the house. It was small by Ashton’s standards, but still fairly large. All of you needed to come from different directions to cover every possible method of ingress and egress.

Tiptoeing through the house was torture. Around each corner, there was a possibility of freedom. A way to ease your guilt. But corner after corner…nothing. Until you got to the living room. On the coffee table, was a piece of white paper and on top were two types of flowers and a sprig of pine sitting comfortably in a vase. By the looks of it, no one had been in the house for quite a few days, as the flowers were wilting. “What do the flowers mean?” JJ asked.

Spencer piped up from the background. He and Morgan were the last ones to make their way into the expansive living room. “The purple flowers are anemones. They tend to mean that one is forsaken. The smaller blue and yellow ones are convulvus major, meaning that one’s hopes have been extinguished. And pine typically represents guilt.” He rattled off the meanings like facts, as if they weren’t a direct taunt to you from the man himself. The rage built within you, coursing through you like a river. When you opened the paper, you read the impossibly neat, script handwriting - very obviously Ashton’s.

How does it feel? Knowing you were so close?  
“Dammit!” you screamed, heaving the vase across the room. Before it even hit the wall, spraying petals in all directions, you were gone. 

The rest of the day was spent talking to random citizens in the area and asking whether or not they had seen Ashton. A few nodded their heads, saying he was quiet and respectful. Others commented on his bright smile. The one that crawled up your spine.

But he was gone.

Hotch left orders with the locals to contact him immediately if Ashton was to return, but he wouldn’t. Despite his arrogance, he was too smart for that. The plane ride home was going to be long.

—-

The second you got back to the airstrip, you barged out of the car and ran directly onto the plane. You should’ve known better than to think this could’ve been over.

Everyone filed onto the plane after you, in varying degrees of annoyance, both with you and the situation. No one said a word to you until shortly after take off. The ones awake were you and Emily.

“Hi,” she said, sitting across from you. “I’m sorry we didn’t catch him.”

You wiped a tear from your eye as you stared out the window. You didn’t have the balls to look at her just yet, not when you knew how much you’d disappointed her. “Me too…I’m so sorry, Emily.”

“Y/N…I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through. I can’t imagine being put in that position…I…”

Once this was all over, you needed some serious therapy. Emily went through her own therapy after her brush with ‘death.’ “I know the situations weren’t the same, but how did you manage after Doyle?”

“Help. Lots of it. A change in scenery for a while. The team. I couldn’t have done it without them.” She reached across the seat and placed her hand on yours.

“Can I ask you something else?” You wanted a genuine answer. You didn’t want her answer to ease your own guilt. That would have to be worked through another time. When she nodded, you continued. “If you had been put in the same situation I did, except instead of Spencer being in immediate danger, it was Declan, would you have done what I did? Knowing my past, I mean?”

A small huff of air escaped her nose as she laughed. “I’ve been thinking about that for the past few days. I mean, I immediately wanted to be mad. And before I knew where you came from, I was, but knowing what I know now, I would’ve absolutely done the same for Declan. He’s above all else for me.” 

“That was Spencer for me,” you whispered softly, looking over at Spencer’s lanky, sleeping form. You started to sob again, holding your hand over your mouth to keep quiet, but you looked her directly in the eyes. “I need you to know that I love all of you. I never wanted to hurt JJ. I just thought that he had eyes on Spencer, and that if I didn’t do what he said, I would lose him. I’m so sorry, Emily. I’m so sorry.” Since you met, Emily had told you to call her Em, but again, you felt that was a name you had to earn. 

She stood up and sat next to you, bringing you into her arms as you cried. “I know…it’s gonna take us a while to get through this, but we all will…in time.”


	10. Chapter 10

By the time you got back, you were livid. The rage was coursing through you to the point where you stood at the steps of the jet before they’d even been lowered. As you rushed off the plane, Hotch called after you to return your gun, which as part of your continued involvement in the case, was ordered to be returned every night before you went home.

You’d barely heard him through the haze of frustration, but you spun around, handed him your gun without a word, and sped to your car, more than ready to go home. The thought of spending another moment with your team, who you’d disappointed for the second time in a week, made you want to explode. “Tomorrow, 9 AM,” you heard him call.

When you returned home, it was barely 7PM, but you were beyond done. Sleep was necessary. As your head hit the pillow, you prayed for relief from the continuous torturous thoughts that were plaguing your mind. Little did you know those thoughts would continue for weeks. Ashton had dropped off the map.

****

Ashton was here. There was no place else he could be. Every possible method of ingress and egress was covered. They were going to get him and this was all going to be over. You’d never been more confident than in this moment.

Until you heard something hit the wall somewhere behind you. You gently tiptoed your way through the apartment, gun at the ready. The code of law enforcement was that if he could be taken into custody that was what you were supposed to do, but that wasn’t happening. If you found him before someone else did, Ashton was dead. You wouldn’t give him the chance to buy his way out of prison a second time.

“No!” you breathed. The noise you’d heard was Emily. In front of you was Emily’s lifeless body, her head caved in just under the blood splatter on the wall. When you went to put your fingers to her throat, you sobbed, covered your mouth with your free hand. She was gone.

Where was this fucker?

Spinning around on your heels, you picked up your pace and rounded the corner, heading to the noise your heard at the opposite end of the expansive apartment. “Aaron,” you heard, the noise gurgling from someone whose voice was distorted by blood. “No, Aaron, stay with me.” As you walked into the room, you saw Hotch’s hand slip from Rossi’s grasp. They’d both been stabbed. “It was one of the bodyguards,” he said, the dark crimson liquid spilling forth from his mouth and flowing onto the floor. “Go get him, Y/N.”

“I’m not leaving you,” you cried. Let them come to you.

There wasn’t any time, and Rossi new it. “The longer you stay here, the more likely he’ll get away. Go!” He choked out the last word and as you left the room, your eyes drowning in tears, you could feel his last breaths.

Stealth was no longer an option. Without any regard for who might hear you, you ran to where you’d heard another noise, only to find JJ sitting up against the wall with a knife in her stomach. “He went that way. Go!” She looked like she’d lost a lot of blood, but Rossi was right; you couldn’t wait.

Bang! 

No, no, no, no, no…”Morgan!” you screamed. He was gone. “Spencer!” You yelled your throat raw, pleading for Spencer to answer your cries, but he wasn’t saying anything. In a desperate, last-ditch attempt to save the man you loved, you screamed and cried as you ran through the apartment, knocking over anything and everything to gain Ashton’s attention. Everyone else was dead or close to death. If he wanted you, let him take you, just leave Spencer alone.

When you rounded the next corner, he was there. Alive. “Spencer,” you breathed. 

Bang!

A rattling, screaming cry emanated from your throat as Spencer fell to the floor, a bullet shining right between his eyes. “You could’ve saved his life if you had just done what you were told,” Ashton said, stepping out of the shadows. “It’s your fault.”

Bang!

****

Shooting up in bed, you were alarmed at the sound of screaming, only to realize seconds later that it was your own. After you grabbed at your arms and patted your legs, ensuring you were in fact alive and awake, you grabbed your phone and shot Spencer a text. He wasn’t speaking to you. He’d barely said ten words since he’d learned of what you’d done to JJ, but you needed him to answer. You needed to know he was alive. Even if he hated you. Pieces of this nightmare had been plaguing your dreams for the past two weeks. Two weeks since you’d been this close to Ashton and had him slip from your grasp. But this time was the first time it had felt so real. You needed Spencer to text you.

What do you want, Y/N?  
It took a minute to adjust to his tone of text. It was so foreign to you, but at least he was alive.

I had a nightmare. I needed to make sure you were alive. I know you hate me. But thank you for messaging me.  
The shaking you’d woken up with didn’t subside as you got dressed and drove to work. It was still early. It was 6 AM. But you couldn’t sleep. Ashton was still out there. You’d work for three hours. Comb through everything you could to see what clues you could find. Maybe Garcia would be in and you could scour every camera across the globe and spot the fucker in the crowd.

When you got into the office, the only one who was there was Hotch, giving further credence to your theory that he was in fact superhuman and didn’t need sleep to function. After grabbing a cup of coffee, which was probably the worst idea for you considering you were still jittery, you sat down at your desk with whatever files you could gather.

After nearly two and a half hours, you’d found nothing that would indicate Ashton’s whereabouts. You downed the last sip of your now ice-cold coffee and looked at the case reports from two weeks earlier, when you’d lost him in Scotland. Those words. ‘How does it feel? Knowing you were so close?’ They stared back at you- mocking you, torturing you – with a range of thoughts, none of them kind. “Fuck!” you screamed, throwing the files off your desk and collapsing into your desk in a fit of tears.

This was All. Your. Fault.

“Y/N?” Hotch said sternly, nodding his head in the slight but noticeable way that said he wanted you to come to his office. Lovely. Now he’s going to reprimand me for throwing papers everywhere.

You tugged your shirt down and walked toward Hotch’s office without any regard for picking up the papers. No one was in yet anyway. It didn’t fucking matter. You weren’t sure what mattered anymore.

“Look, sir,” you started, “I’m sorry for the outburst. It’s just-“

“Sit,” he said firmly. Despite wanting to protest, you sat down in front of him, reading for the tongue-lashing. “How are you? 

Excuse me. “Sir? 

“I can see you’re not getting enough sleep. Ever since we got back from Scotland, you’re shaky and on-edge, even more so than before. You’re downing cups of coffee faster than the pot can make it; that is when you’re not to in your own head so much that you forget that five hours have passed. It’s not healthy.” He finished speaking and you looked at him confused. He was talking to you like a dad that was worried you were overworking yourself, not a federal agent that nearly killed one of his teammates and closest friends.

“Sir, Ashton is still out there. I can’t focus knowing he’s out there. Living a life that none of us could ever hope to live, knowing what he’s done,” you said. How could he even ask you that kind of question? What else should you be doing? “I’m not sleeping until he’s caught. I’ve fucked up enough in my life. I’m not gonna do it again and allow that bastard to take the one thing I’ve worked so hard for, at least not without a fight. I can’t…I just…” The sobs started to wrack through your body again. You’d lost count of how many times you’d broken down when you promised yourself you wouldn’t. The shaking from this morning intensified as you hanged your head in your hands. “Hotch…Sir, I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I didn’t want to hurt JJ. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I-“

“You chose Reid,” he said simply. “I understand. 

Your head rose from its position to meet his gaze. “You understand? You don’t think I acted hastily?”

He shook his head. “My assumption was that you weighed all your options. From what you knew, he had all the resources to do whatever he wanted, including killing Reid. From there, you chose him. If I were in your position, your exact position, I would’ve chosen Jack, and no one could’ve convinced me otherwise,” he said, the surety in his voice steadying you slightly. “I wish you could’ve trusted us enough to know that we wouldn’t have judged you, but other than that, I can’t completely fault you for what happened. I can tell that you wouldn’t have done it if you assumed there was any other way out.”

“I appreciate that, Sir,” you said. “But it’s not about trust. When you come from where I did, you’re ashamed. I was violated and told I was worthless, that I was nothing but a vessel to be used for someone else’s pleasure for more than a year. Rocco Mitchell beat out my self-esteem to the point where I thought I was nothing. Despite getting to where I am now, you don’t just lose that belief. Every day I struggle with whether or not I’m worth a damn thing to anyone. The only reasons I keep going at all anymore are my mother, my father, and Leslie.”

“She was the one that was killed in front of you?” he asked his voice shaking at the thought of two teenage girls cowering before a man with too much power.

You caught sight of Spencer and Morgan walking in for the morning and Hotch got up to close the blinds for you. “Despite everything she’d been through, she was always so positive. Garcia reminds me of her in a lot of ways. I had had my arm basically broken the night before. I made myself a makeshift sling, but I was in such pain that when Rocco called us for the night’s work, I begged for a break. He said no. Leslie said she’d take my client and when she mouthed off to him, he shot her, shoved me toward my client and that was that. When he dumped me on the side of the road, I swallowed some pills I’d found hoping I would die, but I didn’t. The next morning I got up, ran two towns over to someone who I knew could give me a new identity and I ran until I couldn’t anymore.” You hadn’t realized you’d been rambling until Hotch got up from his seat and sat on the edge of the desk. “I got a waitressing job under my new name and saved everything I possibly could. I lived in random shelters on a rotating basis. I had nothing. But I used whatever time I wasn’t working to apply for grants so I could go to school. I finished high school and then I received a full ride to college. Since then, it’s been my dream to work here. I thought I’d finally become something, but I guess…” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. Again, you broke into sobs, but this time, they were muffled by Hotch’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, placing his hand on the back of your head. “We’ll catch this man. Then once we do, I can plead your case to the director to let you stay.” You were stunned. He’d already taken a hell of a lot of flack for insisting you stay until Ashton was caught, but as he’d told Morgan, you were an asset. 

You looked into his unwavering gaze. “I’m an asset, Sir. Once there’s no need for me, the director will want me gone. He already wants me gone.” When you mentioned the moniker you’d heard weeks ago, he wavered slightly.

“That was a word I used to calm Morgan,” he said. “I’m sorry you heard that. But it’s not how I feel. Once this is all over, we can work toward trusting each other again. Okay?”

“Yes, sir.” A small, hopeful smile painted its way across your face. “I’ll meet you in the round table room in a few.”

“Y/N?” he asked again, just as you went to leave his office. “Remember what I said when we met?” You did. “Call me Hotch.”


	11. Chapter 11

Day after day passed with no sign of Ashton. Hotch had called in every possible favor he had to get people to keep on eye out for him. Emily did the same, calling her mother, an ambassador, and asking for her to do the same. They had a web of liaisons and affiliates that were to be on the lookout for the ever-elusive Bentley Ashton, but he was nowhere to be found. It had now been two and a half weeks since you’d lost him in Thurso.

Every day was spent in office going over evidence again and again until the paper disintegrated underneath your fingertips, the oils from your sweat eating away at the reports and maps. And every day ended the same. Nothing new to be found. He hadn’t popped up in any of his former homes and nothing had been purchased in his name as of late. Spencer had even run the possibility of anagrammed names, but nothing showed up. A few days ago, you had suggested that Garcia run the names of his bodyguards to see if anything had shown up in their names and nothing.

As one day bled into the next, you were losing hope. Thankfully, you had Emily, Garcia, Rossi and Hotch at least willing to listen to you, but you were afraid, without Bentley Ashton behind bars or dead, that there was no way they, or anyone else, could ever fully trust you again. In order for that to happen, you had to catch Ashton. Otherwise you were sure you would never be able to rebuilt the life you’d always wanted, and instead have to start up a new one…again. 

Once again, Hotch dismissed you all at the end of the day, telling you to go home and get some sleep so you could start fresh in the morning. No one said a word as you stood up, all too tired and frustrated to say much of anything. When everyone had stepped out of the room, you hanged your head in your hands, unable to scream, unable to cry, unable to truly do anything. You were just a ball of pure frustration. “Y/N,” Hotch said softly, opening the door to the round table room. “Go home. Get some sleep.”

You glanced up from your hands, unable to say anything to him. All you could do was give him a small nod of your head. Nothing was said to anyone as you left the round table room, gathered your things and headed down to the parking garage to drive home. Emily gave you a small smile that said ‘keep your head up’ as she passed. You saw Morgan too, but he didn’t see you. If he did, he was still ignoring you. 

On autopilot, you drove back to your apartment and pulled on some pajamas before grabbing a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream and sitting on the couch to drown your sorrows in something funny. Even if you could get a tiny chuckle out of some movie or TV show, it would be better than nothing.

After nearly half a pint of ice cream had been downed, you were startled out of your ice cream-induced haze by a knock at the door. Your body jumped as if a gun had been shot right next to your ear. Goddammit. “Who is it?” you asked flatly, getting up from the couch and walking to the door to peek out the glass hole and see who was there. It was Spencer. Why was Spencer here? Was he coming to yell at you? Honestly, you weren’t sure if you had it in you.

Slowly, you opened the door, your muscles so heavy that even the act of pulling the door open was exhausting. “Spencer, what are you doing here?” When you caught his gaze, you were surprised at the amount of emotions that could be portrayed on one face at the same time. On the surface, he looked dead, not physically, but his face was drawn and tired, more so than everyone else’s, except possibly yours and JJ’s. Behind his eyes, you saw pity. Despite everything, you knew he felt for your past; he just wasn’t sure about the present. In a flash, you also saw a hint of hatred for nearly taking his best friend away. When he said nothing, you decided just to invite him in.

Even though you hadn’t spoken more than 100 words in the past few weeks, and even though you weren’t sure if he hated every fiber of your being, and even though you were pretty positive he’d never trust or love you again, you wanted to be near him, for as long as he would allow. He had been one of the few good men in your life, and you wanted to keep him close for as long as you could.

For a moment or two, the silence hung in the air, stifling you just so as you walked back toward the couch, but he finally cut the tension. “I just…I had to say some things…” he started, rubbing the back of his head like he didn’t know where to begin. “There were so many things…I’ve been running through them, trying to sort my thoughts out for weeks, and yet I can’t find out where the hell to begin now.” He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to leave after nearly three weeks of hell. “Why?” It was all he could muster.

That was a loaded question. “Why what, Spencer? There are a whole lot of answers I could give.” You had quite a few questions yourself, to the universe, to God – if he actually existed, which given your life you weren’t so sure.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice cracking as the water began to fill his eyes.

Again, about what? Your life was a constant barrage of scenarios you kept hidden for one reason or another. “About Ashton? About my past?”

“All of it,” he said slightly more steadily than a moment ago.

“Well, Ashton is simple. He has all of the money at his disposal. He said I had to do this, or he’d tell everyone about my past, which would’ve been bad enough, but he ensured that I wouldn’t do anything, because he threatened me with you.”

You’d told the entire team this. The night you tried to commit suicide barely a month earlier. But Spencer wanted to hear it from you now. “What did he say? Exactly.”

Closing your eyes, you transported yourself back to that day – the day you’d been approached by the man that would change the course of your life for the umpteenth time. As he spoke, the iciness of his voice crept up your spine. His abnormally white teeth glistened in the darkness. “He said, over the next few years, I will give you instructions on how to kill a member of your new team. I say years because this needs to look convincing. If you do it, at the end, I will allow you to destroy every piece of information I have on you. If you don’t, I will release everything I know about you out into the world…” That would’ve been bad enough. “And if you tell them of my plans, I’ll have him killed.”

His eyes darted between you and the floor. He looked so confused. “I couldn’t be sure if he really could have you killed, but he knew I wouldn’t take that risk, because you were the one person I allowed into my heart after all that I’d been through. I couldn’t lose you.”

“But…” he said, his throat going dry as he tried to speak, “But you could lose JJ? 

As the tears welled up in your own eyes, you clutched your hand tighter on the collar of your pajama top. “I love all of you. I still do and I always will, whether you feel the same or not, but someone put me in a position where I had to choose. And I chose you.” Were you a horrible person because you’d chosen one over the safety of all?

Again, the silence hung between you for longer than you wanted. The seconds stretched into hours. You had to fill it. “Spencer, I can’t imagine what could be going on in your brain right now. How you feel about me. What I’ve done. Where I’ve been. The things I’ve been put through. And I know you probably hate me and will for the rest of my life, but I need you to look at me when I saw I never wanted to hurt JJ. I love her.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said under his breath. It was almost as if he needed to say it but didn’t actually want you to hear it. “I love you…and I don’t know how to feel about that. I feel like I shouldn’t, but I do.”

You slapped your hand to your mouth in an effort to silence the sobs that started to rack your body. He still loved you. After everything. That was something. “And I don’t judge you for your past. You had no control…I just wish you would’ve told me. Trusted me. 

“Spencer…” you started, wanting to ease his pain while still working through your own, “When you come from where I came from, where day in and day out you had someone, people, claiming you had one use in the world, and it was on your knees, you don’t immediately go back to trusting people. If you ever do. Even when you know people love you. I’ve been working on trust for nearly 20 years, and I was just starting to get there…And then Ashton took that away from me. 

Spencer reached across the small space between you and gently grabbed your hand. “I’m sorry. For what you went through. I’m not saying I can’t ever trust you again, but…I need time…and I can’t make any guarantees.”

Looking down, you rubbed the back of his palm with your forefinger, grateful for the feather light touch. “I understand…” You wanted to say something more, but the emotions were rising in your throat.

“I’ve gotta go,” he said, the right corner of his lip curling up just ever so slightly. “But I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” He turned to leave, his soft touch slipping out of your grasp. All you could muster was a nod before you closed the door behind him. The second you heard his footsteps descend the staircase, you released your hand from over your mouth and cried out, stepping back into the door and sliding down onto the floor.

There was hope. So why did you feel hopeless?

Every time you’d felt hope in your life before, it had been taken away, whether in the immediate, or 20 years down the line, it always happened. Sometimes hope wasn’t the savior everyone thought it to be. Sometimes hope was a murderer. Having that hope, only to have it taken away again and again – it was a paralyzing feeling you wouldn’t have wished on anyone.

For what felt like the umpteenth time in three weeks, you cried yourself into exhaustion against the tear-stained wood of the door.

—

As you walked into work the next morning, your muscles strained from sleeping on the floor, you made it a point to seek out JJ. Of all of the people on the team, you expected she’d never forgive you, but you needed to say some things. “Hey,” you said softly as she exited the bathroom at work. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Sure, Y/N,” she said. “What is it?”

“Umm,” you replied. You had actually expected her to say no and walk away. Your heart was pounding a mile a minute. What did you say to someone you’d nearly killed? There was really nothing that could erase what happened, so instead of trying to think of something profound and moving, you just looked up at her, her blue eyes shining back at you, and tried to impress upon her exactly how you felt. “I need you to know how sorry I am,” you started. “You’re an amazing profiler, so I hope you can see in my eyes that I never wanted to hurt you. I chose Spencer over the team and I’m sorry for that. I can’t take it back. I can’t erase what’s happened in my past, immediate or otherwise, but I’ve never been lower than the moment I thought I killed you. There’s probably nothing I can say that will ever get you to forgive me. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame you. But I did need to say that. I’m so, so, so sorry.”

You turned to leave, your heart lighter but your mind much heavier, when JJ called after you. “Y/N?” 

Preparing for an onslaught, you wrapped your arms around yourself. “I believe you. I don’t think you actually wanted to hurt me. I know you felt like you had no other choice, and I honestly don’t know what I would have done in your case…Actually, I know exactly what I would’ve done. If someone had given me the same set of circumstances and said it was Henry or Michael or Will, or the team, I would’ve chosen my kids in a heartbeat and hated myself for it. I just never expected that any one of us would be in that situation. I know I don’t trust you right now…but I am trying to work on it. I do blame you, but I blame him more. I just want you to know that I may not trust you yet, but I don’t hate you.” 

“Thanks, JJ,” you replied, feeling undeserving of the people around you. “Take whatever time you need to trust me again. I hope we can get there one day.” Just as Spencer had done the night before, you reached across the space between you and gently squeezed her hand, only to be brought out of the moment by Derek. 

“What are you doing?” he asked angrily. Everyone on this team was protective of everyone else, but Derek was by far the most protective of the ones he loved. 

Instead of snapping back at him, you just spoke meekly as you walked away. “I was just apologizing to JJ,” you said. “Trying to make amends. 

You felt the heat of Derek’s anger at your back as you walked to the round table room. When you stepped in, Spencer actually made eye contact with you. It felt like progress, but you still sat on the other side of the room, away from everyone.

Staring at the map in the front of you, you went through everything Ashton ever said to you for the 1000th time. “We need to find a way to narrow this done,” you said out loud. What was most important to Ashton? Other than revenge? Suddenly, a thought popped into your mind. “Garcia, which of Ashton’s properties cost the most, either when he bought it, or it’s value now? 

It was actually a fairly simple answer, so she pulled up the property values in a matter of seconds. “What are you thinking?” Hotch asked, his voice warmer than it had been in weeks. You were starting to think you might just earn their trust again.

“When we met, he made a comment about the house I walked into being less than he was used to. Even more than family, money was what he cared about. My theory is that even family came second to his money. That’s what it was all about for him. So, if that’s the case, then it would make sense that he would retreat to his most expensive property because that’s the one that would remind him most of his old life. Money is all he cares about.”

Garcia’s eyes widened. Though she wasn’t a profiler, she thought that made sense too. “His most expensive property when he bought it and now is the apartment in Hong Kong.”

“That’s where we should concentrate then,” you said. “Our Hong Kong contacts are the ones we need to focus on. 

With renewed determination, everyone retreated to their desks to call in every favor they could in Hong Kong. If luck was on their side, then maybe someone would spot him there soon.

The next day, they finally got a break. “I’ve got something,” Emily said, turning around from her desk as she slammed her phone down. Quickly, everyone gathered near her desk. “My mom has a contact that travels in and out of Hong Kong constantly. He said he saw a man that looked like Ashton arriving at Hong Kong International two days ago. He looked a little bit different, said his hair was dyed completely black, glossed back, and he was slightly less tanned, but he said he was sure it was him.”

“What makes him so sure?” you asked. You were too close to be disappointed a second time.

“His unnaturally-white smile.”

“Wheels up,” Hotch said. “Let’s go get this bastard.”


	12. Chapter 12

It would be nearly 19 hours until you arrived in Hong Kong, so the moment you stepped foot onto the jet that would become your home for next three-quarters of a day, you fell into the couch, pulled up a blanket and fell asleep. With any luck, maybe you’d sleep for the next 19 hours.

Nope. No such luck. Why would I possibly be that lucky? 

For a moment, you sat there, eyes open staring out into the distance hoping sleep would overtake your tired body once more, but apparently that just wasn’t in the cards for you today. It had only been 8 hours, which meant another 11 hours slogging by as everyone made their way around the jet, to the bathroom, to grab food, all without uttering a word. You’d been somewhat forgiven by most of the team, or at least told that they kind of understood where you were coming from, but it didn’t mean that everything just went away. The tension was still there and still heavy.

You were no longer Y/F/N Y/L/N, the woman who’d worked her way up to the Behavioral Analysis Unit; you were the woman with the tainted past. You hadn’t walked into it willingly – you’d been tricked, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t tainted all the same. And that wasn’t all. You were also the woman that had tried to kill one of her own – one of their own. No matter what the circumstances were the led you to this moment, they were what they were, and there was no turning back. 

“Hey,” Emily said, sitting next to you with JJ following right after. “How’re you?” 

JJ sat across from you. With all that had been done, she wanted to take your journey toward friendship with baby steps, so sitting across from you on the plane was step one. It felt so foreign. People you didn’t know sat next to you on planes every day without having to know you, but this is what JJ wanted, and you would do anything to earn her trust again, no matter how alien or uncomfortable a feeling it brought you. “I’m nervous,” you said honestly, grabbing Emily’s hand without realizing you were doing it. “I just wanna catch him so badly. I wanna prove that I’m not this person you’ve come to know in the past couple of weeks. The person I was before – that was me, with a few secrets, big ones, sure, but that was the real me. Or at least I think it was.” The tears fell from your eyes and Emily grabbed your hand tighter. JJ noticed, and you thought that because Emily seemed to trust you, that possibly JJ would come to trust you again too. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and handed it to you. 

“Once we catch him, we can start to put this behind us,” JJ replied, her smile tight-lipped. She was trying, and you appreciated it more than she would ever know, but you could tell she was having a difficult time. Hell, if you had killed her, she would’ve left behind two boys and a loving husband. You would’ve taken her away from the three people she loved most and that loved her most in the world.

Another few hours passed, and finally the plane started to descend. A feeling tore into your body and you clutched at your heart. “What’s wrong?” Emily asked.

“I just got this feeling, like my heart went missing…I’m so scared.” You turned to JJ, tears fresh in your eyes. “What if we don’t catch him? What if we never catch him? How do we move on then?”

As you looked into her eyes, you searched for the clues she wasn’t speaking aloud. She was afraid of the same thing, because like you, she wasn’t sure if you would be able to move on if you didn’t catch him. “Let’s not think about that now,” she finally said. “Baby steps, remember?

—

The second you touched down, Emily called her mother, who called her contacts in Hong Kong. “He’s still here,” she said confidently with that strut that she’d come to perfect over the years – you know, the one that said ‘fuck with me and I’ll make you regret it.’ “He’s headed back to the address we have.”

Before you arrived, you got suited up in your vests. Hotch gave you your gun, and finally, you were ready to go. A buzzing in your pocket made you jump as you arrived at the address. When you pulled it out of your pocket, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe it was a good omen. It was a text from Garcia. 

Stay safe, strong girl.  
The glass doors swung heavily behind you and you walked onto the elevator with Hotch and Emily. Rossi and JJ took a different elevator, and Spencer and Morgan took another. You would be coming at him from all angles. If he managed to escape before now, then he was the luckiest man in the world. Otherwise, you had the fucker. And he was going down. 

With the gun at your side, you kept your finger on the trigger, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. “Bentley Ashton!” Hotch screamed. “Come out with your hands up!”

It felt like an eternity before he emerged from the shadows, his shining smile making you sick to your stomach. Everything in you wanted to pull the trigger, he’d made your life hell. He’d taken the security you’d built for yourself away. He deserved to die. He knew that’s what you wanted and his gaze turned toward you. “Hello, Y/N,” he said coolly. “You don’t look too pleased to see me.”

As your finger pressed down gently on the trigger, Spencer spoke up from behind you. “Hands behind your head. No sudden movements.”

“Was it really only a month ago that we met?” he asked you. “Go ahead. I know you want to.” He nodded his head toward the gun that was shaking in your hand. Hotch glanced over wondering if he’d made a mistake in letting you help actually take him down, but he turned his gaze back toward Ashton. Hotch knew you needed this.

You had the perfect shot. One tiny movement was all it would take to take him down for good. Never again risk the possibility of him getting out. He would screw up. And someone would take the shot. But it wasn’t going to be you. Earlier, on the plane, you’d told Emily and JJ that you wanted them to see the true you. You weren’t sure exactly who that was yet, but it wasn’t this. You were not a murderer. “No,” you said, ticking up the corner of your mouth. “I’m not damaged. I’m not where I came from. I am not my past. Hands. Up.” 

With that you lowered your gun, and his face fell. “Now.” From both sides, his bodyguards emerged, guns held high and ready to shoot. He bolted as his men shot at the team. It had been his plan all along.

Hotch slid under the arm of one and ran down the hallway after Ashton. Were it not for Spencer’s quick thinking, shooting the nearby vase as a distraction and shattering it into pieces, his guard would’ve shot Hotch in the back.

Rossi tried as best he could to get a shot on the other bodyguard, but Emily was too entangled in a fight to get a good enough angle. Considering how imposing his bodyguards were, Emily was more than holding her own. You wanted Ashton, and you attempted to go for him, but the bodyguard Spencer attacked had thrown him to the side and lifted his gun. “JJ, move!” you screamed, running into her and pushing her into another room. You practically felt the breeze of the bullet whizz by your back.

Spencer was down. JJ was down. Hotch was out of sight and Rossi was still unable to get a shot off because Morgan was also on top of the other ever-elusive bodyguard. He and Emily were barely holding it together against the 6’5” behemoth. 

Sliding under the other guard, you grabbed his legs and pulled him to ground, quickly turning around and jumping on top of him. Over and over again, you punched him and knocked his face into the ground repeatedly until he was out. When you turned your head, the other guard had disarmed Emily and pushed Morgan back into the wall.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Shots resounded from the down the hallway. Was it Ashton? You couldn’t be sure. And there was no time. Emily as crawling toward her gun and the guard pulled out his gun again, pointing it at Derek. “Derek, get down!” you called. But your body was already in motion. 

As the gun went off, you jumped in front of Morgan, feeling the bullet hit your upper body. Did it? Your arm reached out to grab at the possible wound…but you fell to the ground.

Bang! Bang!

Another two shots went off, but you didn’t know where they came from. All you knew was there was a puddle of something warm gathering under your head. Your eyes fluttered open and shut, and you struggled to remain awake. Everyone gathered around you. Morgan, Emily, Spencer, JJ, Rossi…in the background, you thought your heard Hotch’s footsteps, or it could’ve been the beating of your frantic heart. Spencer mouthed something to you, but you couldn’t process it. You tried to say something back - didn’t work, at least you didn’t think it did. Nothing felt real.

You were numb. Were you about to die? If you were, you’d die happy. You’d shown him who you really were. He didn’t define you. Your past didn’t define you. Your decisions defined who you were in this moment. You were the ‘strong girl’ - and you were proud.

It was so cold…


	13. Chapter 13

A gasp ripped through your chest as your eyes popped open. “It’s okay. You’re okay,” Emily said, placing her hand on your arm. “You’re okay.”

Frantically, you looked around the room. Everyone was there, looks of relief painting their tired faces – in stark contrast to yours. Last you remembered, you were cold, warm blood seeping from the hole in what was apparently your arm.

When you glanced to the side, you caught sight of the white bandage. Underneath, you saw a faint tinge of red. “How bad was it?” you asked, placing your hand over the bandage.

“The bullet nicked your brachial artery,” Hotch said, pushing off of the wall and walking toward your side. “You lost a lot of blood, but they patched you up in surgery.”

You allowed your hand to float off of your arm and fall to your side. “Ashton,” you exclaimed, your eyes widening in recognition. “What happened to Ashton?”

“In custody.” Rossi smiled in your direction from his chair in the corner of the room. “Awaiting transport back to the states with us.”

You took a deep breath in. First, you smiled, sighing heavily as what felt like the weight of the world falling off your shoulders. But then you clutched at your throat, the tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you tried to take a deep breath. “Would you guys mind giving me a moment alone?” you asked shakily. They were apprehensive, considering the last time you were alone in a hospital, you had to be watched in order to not take your own life, but when you asked a second time, they agreed.

Slowly but surely, they filed out of the room. The shaking breaths inside you threatened to barge their way out, but you held them in. Spencer was the last one out. He nodded in your direction, the corners of his mouth turning upward as he closed the blinds on his way out. He knew what was coming and knew you wanted privacy to do it 

With the door closed and the blinds shuttered, you let it all out. You pulled your hospital gown up to muffle your screams and cries. Everyone knew what was happening, but you didn’t want the entire hospital hearing you. It was over. He was caught. You could finally start to heal. 

The tears that had pricked at your eyes streamed like hot lava down the sides of your face. Over and over again, you wiped them off, feeling them burn your skin, but they just kept flowing. “Oh my god,” you sobbed out loud. “It’s over. It’s finally over.” You smiled to yourself, kicking up and down like a child on Christmas morning. When you moved, it rustled your arm, causing a dull pain to emanate its way up your skull, but you didn’t care. You could get into therapy again. You could make amends with your friends. It was finally okay to start that.

For another few minutes, you allowed everything that had been building up over the past month to escape you. Everything hurt. Your body, the tears, every negative emotion you’d had for weeks, but it was okay; you were cleansing your body of the past, and shortly, you had exhausted yourself into some much needed sleep.

—

It was another two hours before you woke from your cry fest. Again, when you awoke, the team was there, having let themselves back in after you’d fallen asleep. “Hey,” Spencer said softly, “You’re gonna be discharged tomorrow.”

When you got back, Ashton was going to be questioned. “Hotch,” you said. “Can I-?” 

“Yes,” he said without missing a beat. “We’ll be watching outside, but yes.”

The first genuine smile you’d cracked in ages spread across your face. “I’ve got lots of questions.”

A small chuckle resounded from the rest of your team and for a few moments you just reveled in what you assumed was a feeling of peace – contentment. “Hey guys,” Morgan said, turning around to the rest of the team. “Mind if I have a moment alone with Y/N?”

Well, that was nerve-wracking. What could he want to talk to you about? Spencer must’ve noticed the apprehension on your face, because he shot you a glance. “You’re not gonna kill her, are you Morgan?” 

He chuckled. “No, I’m not. I just wanna talk.”

You gave everyone a nod that it was okay to leave, so they did. The tension of not knowing what he wanted to say was weighing heavily on you, so you decided to be the one to break the ice. “So, what’s up, Derek?”

He swallowed hard. “Why did you jump in front of me?” 

In his mind, it must’ve seemed like an honest question, but to you it was so simple. “Because, Derek, after everything that’s happened, the thing’s I’ve done, the circumstances that have befallen me, this team, through it all, I’ve loved you all. I mean it when I say that I was put in a bad position. I chose Spencer because I was…I am in love with him, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t, that I don’t, love every single one of you. I saw you about to get shot, so I jumped. Because I care.” After a few moments of thick silence, you looked up again. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he said. “What is it?” 

“What would you have done in my shoes?”

A small huff of air escaped his nose as he contemplated your question. More accurately, he tried to form the right words. “If I came where you came from, and was given the ultimatum that you were given, I would’ve chosen Savannah…I’ve been thinking about it…and I think the reason I acted the way I did is because like you, I wouldn’t have thought twice about saving the woman I love. And I think that angers me.”

“Why?”

His eyes opened slightly. “Why? Because I’m an officer of the law. I’m supposed to protect people.”

“But you’re also a man, a husband. You’re almost a father.” You understood what he meant - why he was conflicted, but you were sure in your decision. “Some people make work their lives. Some people make their families their lives. Some people are able to balance both, and you do, but at the end of the day, even though this job in large defines you, you are a husband and father-to-be….just as I was a girlfriend, madly in love with the man of her dreams. Some might have the ability to always do what is right by the law…but honestly, I don’t think I’ve met one of them yet.”

Derek pushed his tongue against his bottom lip. “I just think the fact that I would’ve made the same decision just as quickly angered me. And since you actually did it, that angered me. Because it was so close to home. Like suddenly someone could try and make me decide something so horrific.”

“Can’t make this shit up,” you laughed. It elicited the same response from Derek and he placed his hand on yours. “Do you think you can forgive me? Can you see that this is never what I wanted?”

“I can see it’s never what you wanted,” he said. “And I think I can forgive you. I’m going to be honest with you though, I may end up being snappy now and then.”

Although you hadn’t know him that long, you knew enough from Spencer that Derek was the type to hold a grudge – get a little hostile. “You? Snappy? Noooo.”

“Shut up,” he snickered. A few moments later, he got up from his chair. “I’m gonna go get a cup of coffee, you want anything?”

As you inhaled, you caught the scent of something bready and delicious. “There’s some kind of sandwich I keep smelling and I want it. I haven’t actually felt like eating in a month, so I could eat a horse right now.” 

“That actually sounds good,” he laughed. “I’ll get me one too. Be back.”

“Derek?”

He turned around. “Yea?”

“Thanks. It means a lot to know that we can work on this.” 

With a nod of his head, he turned to leave again, before stopping in the doorway. “Thanks for jumping in front of me. It’s because of you I get to meet my son.”

— 

After devouring the sandwich that Morgan brought back for you, visiting hours were almost over. “You guys should get going,” you said, feeling your own eyes get heavy with much-needed sleep.

“We aren’t going anywhere.” Rossi smirked. “We’ll be outside.”

“Go,” you laughed. “I’m going to be passed the fuck out and there’s no need for you all to sleep in chairs when you could spend the night in a cushy Hong Kong hotel courtesy of the FBI.

Hotch, Rossi, Emily and Morgan decided to take you up on your offer, but Spencer and JJ insisted on staying. “You mind if Y/N and I have a moment, Spence?”

“Sure,” he said, “ I’m gonna go grab some waters in case we need them in the middle of the night, and then I’ll be back.” As Spencer left your hospital room, you looked over at JJ. 

After putting her phone back in her pocket, she huffed and sat at your bedside with a strained smile. “Everything okay?” you asked. You couldn’t be more over the moon, but that didn’t mean everyone else felt the same, especially considering you didn’t just ‘get over’ what happened; it would take work.

“Just got off the phone with Will a few minutes ago…”

“Let me guess, he doesn’t like the fact that you’re staying her tonight…with me…” Will didn’t know you as well as JJ did, so you assumed he’d have an issue with JJ giving you the chance to prove yourself. You didn’t really blame Will for his anger; you’d almost taken away his wife and the mother of his children. Work would be required to mend that relationship too.

JJ sighed heavily. “Yea. He says I shouldn’t trust you. Ever. He’s mad.”

“I get that.”

“Yea,” she laughed. “I do too, but I know you better than he does, and although it’s going to take a lot of work, I believe that you were put in the worst possible position imaginable.”

The tears welled up, but you held them back. “Umm…I know you said baby steps, and I’m cool with that, but can I hug you?” Longingly, you looked over at her. You wanted more than anything to say sorry like this, but you hadn’t touched anyone, except Spencer’s hand the other night, so you felt like you needed to ask. 

With a smile, JJ stood up and leaned over you. Your good arm stretched around her and held her tight. “I’m so sorry, JJ. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m not that person…I promise.”

“Pushing me out of the way and jumping in front of Morgan, which I told Will about by the way, went a good way to proving that,” she said, sitting on the side of your bed. “We’ll work on it.” She reached down and grabbed your hand, and you moved to the opposite side of the bed so she could sit with you. 

By the time Spencer got back, he smiled. You were fast asleep. And at your side was JJ, asleep as well with her head resting on yours.


	14. Chapter 14

Last time you walked out of a hospital, you were too tired to contemplate a second suicide attempt, although that is what had rolled through your mind. Now, you stood over your former hospital bed with a smile, packing up your clothes and getting ready to head to the jet.

Spencer was coming to get you and take you there. Everyone else was on their way onto the jet already, with Ashton in custody. He was going to be on the plane with you for another 19 hours. When Spencer walked into the room, you immediately handed him your gun. “What’s this for?” he asked confused.

“I don’t trust myself to keep this while Ashton is that close to me,” you said honestly. “Can you hold it until we get home?”

Putting the gun in his coat pocket, he took the bag from you and put it over his shoulder. “You’re not carrying this with your arm like that.” As you signed the final papers to leave the hospital, you thanked the nurses and doctors for taking care of you and headed out the door. For the first time in a month, it wasn’t you who reached out, but Spencer, grabbing your hand and walking you toward the car.

As you walked onto the jet, you squeezed his hand hard. This flight was going to be extremely difficult. “Just sit with me. Don’t pay attention to him.” A soft smile painted its way across your face.

“You okay with that? Sitting near me, I mean? I know this whole forgiveness thing is going to take a while…” you trailed off, feeling like there was so much more to say, yet didn’t have the courage or the right circumstances to say it.

Spencer turned into you and kissed your forehead. It was the first time since this whole situation blew up in your face. “It’s going to take a while. But we have to start somewhere…and I want to start…now, so let’s get in there, you can sit by me, and I swear to God, I’ll choke him out if he says a word to you. 

“Can I just kill him if he says one word at all?” you asked with a laugh.

You were trying to make a joke, but Spencer made it serious again. “You could’ve killed him before. And I would’ve understood that. The fact that you didn’t proves to me that you never wanted any of this to happen.”

Moving into him, you wrapped both arms around his waist and just leaned into him for a few moments. “Let’s go.” 

—

The ride back was fairly uneventful. Considering everything that happened and who he was, you shouldn’t have been surprised when you walked onto the jet to see Ashton fast asleep - but sleep he did, for a good 12 out of 19 hours. “Psychopaths bore easily,” he said, watching as your mouth dropped open.

“I shouldn’t be surprised…but I am.” As soon as the plane took off, you sat next to Spencer and fell asleep on his chest. Someone was always awake to keep an eye on Ashton, but for the most part he slept for the first 12 hours. It was after he woke up that he decided to mouth off. 

“Ashton,” Hotch said, not even bothering to use a prefix, “Keep your mouth shut.” 

“What I can’t even ask the people that ruined my life some questions? I think it’s the least I’m owed.” Up until then, you’d kept your mouth shut, biting back retorts by squeezing Spencer’s hand, but you couldn’t hold it in anymore. As you turned around and looked at him, you were glad you’d given Spencer your gun earlier, because dammit you wanted to shoot Ashton right between the eyes right now.

Instead of moving from your seat, you just grabbed Spencer’s hand out of Ashton’s view. “You are owed nothing, but don’t worry, when we get back, you and I get to have a candid conversation.”

It’s as if he was waiting for this very moment – for you to speak up. “So the whore has found her voice,” he said coolly, his teeth blinding you. You felt Spencer stiffen at your side, and felt a sense of pride as Morgan told Ashton to shut the hell up.

That was the end of your interaction on the plane. You couldn’t handle anymore and you knew you were going to need your strength to interview the fucker later on.

Another torturously long seven hours passed before you hit the ground. All of you could have easily gone home and slept for the next 18 years, but Ashton wouldn’t wait, and as tired as you were, you wanted more than anything to get into a room with him knowing you had the upper hand. 

The moment you stepped off the plane, you, Spencer, Hotch, JJ and Ashton piled into one car, while the rest of the team piled into the other and you both headed toward the Bureau. “Alright,” Hotch said as two other agents escorted Ashton to the interrogation room. “Y/N, are you sure you want to do this? He’s going to try and get under your skin.”

“I know,” you sighed heavily, looking toward the room. “But I need to do this. If anyone else goes in there, to him, he thinks he’s won, even in prison, and I refuse to let him believe that.” Everyone followed up behind you, following you toward where Ashton lay in wait. The one thing that gave you strength is that when you looked back, each member of your team gave you a nod – they were with you. After all these years of being alone, you truly felt like you weren’t anymore. You had a family.

—

“Hello,” he said as you entered the room, looking at his reflection in the metallic table and trying to pick something out of his teeth. “You surprised me.”

Well, if you knew a goddamn thing about me, other than what’s on paper, you would’ve picked someone else to do your dirty work. “How’s that?” The team already had a ton of evidence. Enough to put him away for a long time, but if he wanted to hang himself further, you were all for it.

With a carefree nature of someone slipping into a seat at a bar, you sat down in the seat across from him. “I assumed you’d kill me,” he said frankly. 

“You know what they say about assuming, Ashton, right?”

His sly smile and the slither of his neck reminded you of a character you’d seen on television, although even the character was infinitely more likeable. “You’re just so broken. I assumed you’d do whatever it took to save the man you claimed to love.”

You weren’t going to answer that last bit, though you wanted to badly. “Correction. I was broken. But you know, I kind have to thank you actually.” You could practically feel the mouths gaping on the other side of the window. Ashton was surprised too. “If may never have found out who I truly was without your help.”

“Well, let’s see,” he said, leaning back in his chair and smiling wide. “You’re an orphan, lost your parents at 15. No family. You’re a former street kid, eating food out of the garbage.” He was so disgusted by that thought. This man had never experienced anything other than luxury, even before he built up his own fortune. “You’re a whore. How many men have you spread your legs for?”

Hearing that word, whore, it did still wound you. Tomorrow morning, you were looking up a therapist and seeing them ASAP. You had some shit you needed to work through, but you wouldn’t let him know. “Correction again,” you started, ticking the corners of your mouth up into a smile, “I am an orphan. I lost my parents. But I have a family. You tried to turn them against me and me against them, but it didn’t work. So…you lose. Two, yea, I ate out of the garbage to survive. I stole from people. I begged on the corners for spare change, but I did what I had to survive, and with no one’s help but my own, I earned my way into the BAU. And three, I was a prostitute, tricked into a way of life I never expected. I have no idea how many men violated me. I stopped counting, but I know this. I never spread my legs for one of them. Every single time - every night for a year, men like you pried them open without my consent. Now, I have a question for you.”

He looked at you expectantly, his tanned face barely moving a muscle as he waited. “Why me? How did you choose me?

Ashton chuckled. “I was hoping you’d ask me that. For quite a few years, I had a young man working for me. I paid him handsomely for his services.” You weren’t sure what this had to do with anything, but you were going to let him talk – give him the rope and let him tie his own noose. “One day, I found him looking over a picture of you. I could tell by the look on his face that he knew who you were. He seemed proud.” Where the hell was he going with this? “I knew I needed someone to infiltrate the BAU, and when he told me that you’d just earned a position with them after rising from the ashes of a dreadful past like a beautiful phoenix, I figured who better than a new member to carry out my plan. I guess I’ve lost, but not completely.”

The bile rose in your throat. What? Was there a bomb in the building and he was gonna take everyone with him? Maybe he was bluffing. You couldn’t be sure. Who was he talking about? 

“Who told you about me?” You were genuinely curious. You didn’t know anyone anymore.

“Why, the one that gave you your new name, of course. The one person you turned to when you had no parents and no more friends.” As the heat rose in your face and you looked up to meet his gaze, he smiled. “Granted, he had no idea what I was going to do with that information, that is, until I had a gun at the back of his head.”

“You killed Alec?” you breathed. It was more of a statement than a question. Something to say out loud to test whether or not it was real. 

“Alec is dead. The last blast from your past is gone…because of you.” 

You lurched across the table, pulling him out of his chair and pinning him to the wall by his throat. You could feel his heart beat in his throat, but he smiled at you, enticing you to kill him. Prove he was the woman he thought you were. From behind, you heard someone scream. “Y/N, he’s going away for the rest of his life.” Morgan had grabbed you by the waist and pulled you away from Ashton. “Don’t prove him right.” He dragged you from the room and closed the door, and you watched as Ashton laughed against the wall of the room.

The tears fell again in sheets as you covered your mouth. “Who’s Alec?” Spencer asked, putting his arms around you as you cried. 

A rattling breath made its way up your throat and you choked it out. “He helped me escape.”

Garcia came up behind you and eased you back into a seat, kissing your forehead as she did so. “How?” 

You steadied your voice as best as you could. “When my friend Leslie was shot in front of me, I took a bunch of piles after a client dumped me on the side of the road. I couldn’t take it anymore.” When you looked up, all of your friends were staring at you intently, looks of pity on their faces. “I woke up the next morning in a pool of my own vomit and took that as a sign that I was supposed to do something with my life, so I pushed up off the ground and ran.” You stood up, flailing your hands around as you recounted moving through the streets, and drainage pipes, and sewers to find Alec two towns over. “He was an amazing hacker. I knew he was the only one that could erase my identity so Rocco could never find me. He didn’t ask any questions. He just did it. Because that’s the kind of guy he was. Ashton killed him. I never got to thank him…and now he’s dead.” Your head fell into your hands and you cried out, the pain coursing through you like a hot knife. 

“He was a hacker?” Garcia asked shakily. “Do you know his handle?” When you told her, she slapped her hand to her face. She knew him too.

The team took you to the round table room and for what felt like hours, you sat there and cried, but this time, when you looked up, everyone was still there. Hotch had apparently gone to officially arrest Ashton and transfer him to another officer, but this time, as you cried, you weren’t alone.


	15. Chapter 15

It had been nearly three months since Ashton had been put away. A trial was underway within days of his arrest, but with the testimony of every member of the BAU, a mountain of physical evidence, and the confession of Alec’s murder, Ashton was going away for life this time – without the possibility of parole. 

In the ensuing days following the conclusion of the trial, Spencer provided you with the names of a few psychiatrists that you could begin to talk to. After settling on Dr. Melanie Roosa, who specialized in working with victims of sexual abuse, you started seeing her twice a week. Hotch had even allowed for you to come to work late one day a week so you could see her.

The first session had been absolutely brutal. It had gone over the allotted hour of time, but it was the last session that day, so she stayed with you as you cried, knowing you would have a lot to work through. 

There was an overwhelming amount of guilt riddling your body over the recent situation. On top of that, you still felt an unbelievable feeling of disgust regarding your past with Rocco Mitchell. But over the weeks following the trial, Dr. Roosa worked you through everything. It was going to take a long time – a really long time, especially considering that these things followed you for nearly 20 years – but finally you were starting to make some progress.

She’d alerted you to the possibility that even though they claimed at the time they could forgive you, it would take a long time for your teammates to truly understand everything that had happened. After telling her every detail of what happened, she suggested working to repair each relationship individually, starting with JJ and Spencer.

Morgan was now days away from becoming a father. Although he’d taken the longest to forgive you initially, it seemed as if he was the one to truly understand why you did what you did. JJ and Spencer were harder. They were the ones you had betrayed the most.

The first step towards reconciling with JJ was talking with her and Will. They made sure that the boys were being watched by her mother and then JJ sat in between you both, clearly trying to keep Will at bay; you were pretty sure he wanted to jump across the table and kill you. “I realize that this is going to take work…both of you…but I’m willing to put in the work. More than willing. I want to,” you said, making tentative eye contact with Will. “Whatever you want to ask me, I’m all for.”

Will looked at JJ, who gave him a pleading look. “I understand where you’re coming from Will, but I really want to work on this.” With a huff, he combed his hands through his hair and rested his head in his hands.

For a few moments, he just stared at you, the wheels clearly turning in his mind. “What made you pick JJ first?” He finally asked.

“I didn’t pick her. Ashton did.” Then he asked why Ashton picked her.

“Truthfully, I don’t know,” you told him. “But my educated guess is that he knew she was the one who would hurt me the most. When he confronted me at first, I was completely broken. I was petrified he’d follow through on his promise to kill Spencer and expose my past, so he figured he had me, and I guess he wanted her to go first because as long as that went through without a hitch, the rest of the team would be simpler.” You looked down at your trembling fingers. This line of questioning was making your heart beat wildly in your chest, but it was also what you’d expected.

“So this would’ve been easy for you?” he asked hotly.

Your lip quivered and your head snapped back to meet his gaze. “No,” you said emphatically. “None of this was easy. None of it would have been easy. If it had been, JJ wouldn’t be here right now.” At that notion, JJ looked away from you. If you had gone through with Ashton’s plan, she wouldn’t be able to see her boys in the next few hours like she was going to after you were done talking. “Look, Will, I get that this is really hard for you to believe, considering you nearly lost your wife, but I have never felt lower than I did that day. When I saw her in the hospital, I realized I couldn’t do it.” 

Thinking back to seeing JJ unconscious and knowing you put her there, brought everything flooding to the surface. “I-That’s when I figured my best course of action was to…”

“Run.” Will was hot with frustration. “You decided that instead of coming clean, you’d kill yourself and leave the team to deal with your mess?”

JJ chastised him, but you could hear in her voice that she also wanted to know how you’d respond. “It looks like that in hindsight, I admit,” you started, scratching at your jeans underneath the table. “But that wasn’t what I thought at the time.”

“What did you think?” JJ asked softly.

Dr. Roosa told you to be completely honest – not to try and sugarcoat things to make people feel better. Although the honesty may hurt at first, if they were able to work through it, it would be beneficial to your relationships in the long run. “Ashton made me believe he had eyes everywhere, and that if I were to tell anyone anything, he’d expose my past, and shoot Spencer. I didn’t want to risk him…so I put the value of his life above your own, and I hate myself for that.” You started to shake, the tears easily sliding from your eyes and down into your hands. “I want to think that if you’d come from the some circumstances and been put in the same situation, that either of you would’ve put each other or your boys above all else.” Will was about to vehemently deny that, but you continued before he could get going. “Whether or not that’s the case, that is the decision I made, and I can’t change that. I put the life of the man I love ahead of the rest of you. All I can do is apologize, and ask that we continue to work on this.” 

It seemed like the time came to a stand still. “I can’t forgive you yet,” Will said honestly. “And if it were solely my decision, I don’t know if I would even work to try, but JJ wants me to…” He reached across the table and grabbed JJ’s hand. “But I’ll do it for you.” 

JJ’s eyes watered and she silently thanked him. “I know this isn’t for me, but thank you, Will. I’ll do everything I can to prove that I’m not that person.”

And that brought you here. Day by day, you were working with JJ and Will to repair that relationship. It was going places. Some days. Sometimes it was one step forward, two steps back, but most of the time, you were heading in the right direction.

In addition to your two-day a week foray into personal therapy, you and Spencer decided to do couples’ therapy twice a month. Both of you really wanted to make it work. Your therapist there suggested weekly date nights, so here you were.

In the nearly four months since this whole thing started, you and Spencer hadn’t spent the night together – at all. “Hey, Spence,” you said, calling from the couch where you were sitting in the most comfortable set of pajamas imaginable, “Could you grab me a soda?” After grabbing you a diet coke, you turned around and started your movie, smiling to yourself as you got back to some kind of normalcy. As you had with everyone else that you had a nickname for, you’d waited for express permission from your boyfriend to use the shortened version of his name. Weeks earlier, he’d told you to call him Spence again.

When he sat down beside you, you opened your soda and leaned against his arm. “I’m glad I can call you Spence again. It felt weird calling you Spencer.”

“It felt weird having you call me Spencer,” he laughed. The movie started and he pulled you into him. For the length of the movie, you just sank into his embrace. Everything you had assumed you’d never have, never get back after Ashton took everything away, was slowly, very slowly, falling back into place. Piece by piece you were earning their trust again. Every session with Dr. Roosa, she reminded you that it would take a long time to heal, and sometimes it would feel like you’d taken ten steps in the wrong direction, but if you kept at it, eventually you’d have the life you always wanted and worked so hard for.

Once the movie was over, Spencer got up to use the bathroom and you pulled a blanket out of his closet. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Getting ready for bed. I’m sleepy.”

“When I said I wanted you to stay over, I meant with me.” You’d assumed he just meant stay over, not actually sleep in his bed again. That hadn’t even crossed your mind.

“You sure?” Even though you wanted to feel his arms around you more than anything, if going too fast was going to ruin that, you’d wait. But he nodded his head and you stood up, pressing a small kiss to his lips. 

“Good.”

Despite the happiness at being able to actually spend the night in his arms, you were ridiculously exhausted. Sleepily, you removed your glasses and slipped under the sheets. The smell of clean linen, books and the strawberry-scented detergent he used still hung in the sheets. When he slipped in beside you, you sighed happily. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he said against your neck. Your eyes became watery. You’d been so close to losing everything. “What’s wrong?” He turned your head toward him and wiped the tear away.

“I was just so close to the edge - to losing all of this. I’m just glad I didn’t.” 

“Me too.” He rested his forehead against yours. A few sleepy kisses were had between you, and then, for the first time in forever, you fell asleep exactly where you wanted to be. 

—

The following morning, everyone was called into the BAU. Penelope teetered by on her impossibly high heels and motioned toward the round table room. “Bad?” you asked as you followed her inside, with Spencer just steps behind. 

“Really bad.”

“Oh, we’ve got a bad one,” Rossi said as he walked in. Apparently, looking at Hotch told him something. But even as a profiler, Hotch was hard to read.

“Alright, my loves,” Garcia said, quickly mentioning that the remote for the TV wasn’t working. “A few hours ago, 35-year-old Mary Hexner and 36-year-old Clara Mocellin were found in two separate alleyways in Decatur, Georgia.” At the mention of your hometown, your heart clenched, an immediate sweat forming on your brow. “They were sexually assaulted and then strangled to death. Both were found inside dumpsters.”

And there was the ten steps back Dr. Roosa had mentioned. Why Decatur? Why now? 

“Since the remote isn’t working for the TV, I sent the information to your phones,” Garcia finished up.

Pulling out your phone, you opened the attachments Garcia provided. One look at the two victims…and you knew. “What’s wrong?” Emily asked from across the table. 

Your shaking breath started to catch in your throat. This couldn’t be happening. “I-I knew these women…” you said softly.

“How?” Hotch asked.

“They were two of Rocco Mitchell’s girls.”


	16. Chapter 16

“I never knew their real names,” you trailed off, your throat closing at the sight of them. Dark purple bruises had formed around their necks as they had so many times before, but this time they wouldn’t have the chance to fade. They were both wearing what one might consider mom clothes. From the looks of it, they’d pulled themselves out of the gutter, just as you had. “To me, they were Cristal and Devon.” With what you assumed was a blank stare, you set the phone back on the table. “I’d bet any amount of money that Rocco did this, or this in some way traces back to him.”

In the months since you’d started therapy, you’d learned, once again, how to let people in, so the team seeing you cry was as normal as them seeing you grab a cup of coffee. At this point you thought nothing of it, so you pulled your feet up off the floor and curled into yourself. “They’re about my age, and there were about 20 of us at the time,” you started. “Whatever name we had at the time, we had to throw away once Rocco came along. I only recently remembered my actual name. My name with Rocco was Sierra Cheverie.”

God. Even saying the name made your skin crawl. “Did Mary and Clara have last names associated with them?” Rossi asked. 

Silently, you shook your head. “The only ones that were given last names were the ones he used to move his drugs. In case we had to introduce ourselves to clients. Different clients…”

Emily reached over and placed her hands on yours. “So…you were forced to move some of his drugs?”

Again, it took you a second to meet everyone’s gaze. “Yes. At the time, he moved cocaine. I hear he’s moved onto other things now – heroin and MDMA specifically.” No one had to ask how you were meant to transport things – it was bad enough they knew that you had; you had done it by any means necessary, because if you didn’t, it meant a beating. “I never wanted to…” You started to shake, looking over at Hotch.

“Considering the things we’ve forgiven you for, I think I can get the Bureau to look past the fact that you were a drug mule,” he said, giving you a reassuring smile. 

“Okay,” you said, standing up and pacing the room as you looked at the pictures. “We all know that I’m going to be looking at these crimes through the lens of a former working girl and as one who believes Rocco Mitchell is somehow involved. I will look at it from that angle, and you will all look at it through unbiased eyes.”

Hotch knew there was no way you would be able to separate this case, so he allowed you to work through your own lens. Even the Bureau chiefs, some of whom had vehemently denied your return, had to admit that having someone with your personal background gave the Bureau a heads up; you had an extremely unique knowledge of things most didn’t. “You’re right,” he said. “But first, Garcia, what can you tell us about Mary and Clara?” 

“What can I tell you? What can I tell you? I can tell you anything and everything you could possibly need to know because I am the greatest.” You smiled and thanked the Gods for Penelope Garcia as she sped her fingers across the keyboard like an expert guitarist tearing up a solo. “Now, here’s what yours truly can tell you about our two victims. Mary Hexner, formerly Cabella, age 35, was a waitress at a local restaurant in Decatur. She’s been working there for nearly 20 years and has stayed on through the restaurant’s various name changes. At the age of 22, she met and married one Joseph Hexner, a local franchise owner – he’s bought quite a few Bass Pro shops over the years. They had two kids, Clay and Noelle Hexner, ages 9 and 4.”

As she’d been speaking, you wandered over to her, lost in your own world, but she brought you back with a quick squeeze of your hand. “When it comes to Clara Mocellin, formerly Harrison, age 36, she was a personal trainer at a local gym and married her husband, Mark Mocellin, who is a professor at the community college, when she was 24. They have three kids, two girls and a boy, all under the age of 8.”

“How extensive are their records?” you asked. “I know they were arrested a fair few times when I knew them, but what else?”

Again, she ran her fingertips over the LED lit keys and came up with your answer. “As you’d expect, both of them had numerous possession charges and prostitution charges, but those stopped when they were about 19/20 years old. Clara had one additional possession charge at the age of 22, but that was the last one.” 

You picked up your phone again to look at their pictures. “It would make sense that most of the charges stop at around 20. By then, you’re too old for Rocco.” You swallowed your disgust even though the bile was stinging your throat. Many of the other pimps in that area made it known that once you were theirs, you remained theirs forever, but Rocco specialized in a particular type of client, meaning once you got beyond a certain age, you were no longer valuable to him. Shaking it off, you tried your best to return to the role of profiler and not former prostitute, though you imagined that would always stain your judgment to some degree. “When it comes to any other case, we start with victimology. So why Clara and Mary? In my eyes, they knew something about Rocco that he doesn’t want getting out, so he, or someone he knew, killed them to keep them quiet…which, if that is the case, means I’m a target too.”

“What could you know?” Morgan asked.

“I believe we were his last group of girls to transport coke. From there, he tidied up his practices. He’s not as sneaky as he used to be. He’ll make alliances if it suits him. Back then, he didn’t. And he would double cross anyone at the slightest indication that they’d betrayed him. He was very impulsive. My guess is that he is currently working with someone who he also worked with back then, but he betrayed in some way back then, so he can’t have that information getting back to one of his best customers.” Of course this was all conjecture, but it definitely fit the man you knew. 

“That does make sense,” Spencer said. “But like you said, you’re looking at it through one lens. If we take the possibility of Rocco out of the equation, why Mary and Clara?”

“Well,” JJ said, “They were both women in their mid-30s with families of their own. Climbed their way up from the gutter-“ She stopped herself short and realized what she said, turning to you and attempting to apologize.

“It’s fine, JJ,” you chuckled softly. Although you weren’t proud of your past, you were proud of the way you’d risen above it. “I did literally climb out of a gutter.”

With a sigh and smile, she started up again. “We could be looking at someone who’s jealous of the fact that they obtained the life they wanted after what they’d been through. Another working girl maybe, one who wasn’t as lucky. Made it look like they were assaulted when they weren’t.” It was definitely a possibility, but there was a gnawing feeling in your gut.

“Not trying to be a PITA,” you said, “But-“

“PITA?” Spencer asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Pain in the ass. Not trying to be one, but they were thrown into dumpsters. That has to say something about how the unsub thought of these women, which leads me back to…” You held your hands out to the side, wanting to believe you were wrong, but feeling deep down you were right. 

“You’ve got a point,” Emily said. You could tell that even though everyone else was playing the opposite side, they saw where you were coming from and happened to agree. “But, to play devil’s advocate, the dumpster could be a forensic countermeasure to cover up evidence. It could purely be a disposal sight because the unsub didn’t want them to be found. There are other options.” You nodded. You knew she was right…but this was Rocco. That sadistic, misogynist, psychotic fuck was killing women who knew of his former business practices. You could sense it.

As you turned toward the TV, which didn’t actually have anything on it because the remote wasn’t working, you started to tap your foot. “There’s something else on your mind, Y/N,” Morgan said. “What is it?”

“The way in which they were killed,” you said, swallowing the realization as best you could. It had literally just popped into your mind. “Choking was a…thing…for Rocco. He liked it.” Your teammates flinched away from your gaze; they could tell you spoke from experience.

Clara and Mary were strangled to death. “And given that they were sexually assaulted, and Rocco had no qualms about, and I quote, “testing out his own products,” it would also make sense that he still saw them as possessions after all these years.”

“Well, we’ll figure out about assault from the ME when we get there,” Hotch said.

If Rocco was the killer, there would be know DNA. He always wrapped it up. And if he’d become smarter since you knew him, he wouldn’t have strangled them with his bare hands either. “Also,” Morgan interjected, “Mary and Clara were never reported missing. Both of them had a pretty predictable routine. Mary was supposed to be at work when she was found and Clara was supposed to be picking up her kids. They were both killed yesterday.”

“So, this is most likely, Rocco or not, a mission-oriented killing spree,” you said, hanging your head in your hands. When would this be over? When would you catch a break? For the first time since you’d started, you sat back down next to Spencer and rested your head against his shoulder, but you didn’t fully relax into him. Sure you were working through your past with your doctor, but you were still constantly afraid that Spencer was going to see you as ‘dirty’ and cast you aside eventually.

A few moments of pity-filled silence hung in the air before Hotch spoke up. “Y/N’s right. This is most likely mission oriented, so we can’t waste any time. Wheels up in 20.”

As everyone left the room, Spencer turned to you and placed a kiss on your lips. “I’m sorry about this. One step forward, five steps back.” You grabbed his hands and gave them a thankful squeeze. “If this is Rocco, we’re gonna get him and you can finally move forward…Can I ask you something?”

You scrunched your brow. “Of course, what is it?”

“You said you recently remembered your real name?”

A slight huff escaped you. “Well, my real name now is Y/N Y/L/N,” you smiled. “I’ve grown into this person, but yea…My last name was Connors. My first was Kayla. I was Kayla Connors.” It felt so foreign. You loved your parents, but that wasn’t you anymore.

He stood up and you followed suit. When he took you in his arms, you relaxed a little. “Y/N suits you more.” You felt him smiling against your neck. You thought so too.

—

“Please…Rocco,” she said, tears falling from her eyes as Rocco pulled himself out of her as he had so many times before. “I swear I will never tell a soul about anything…ever. I have too much to lose. My family…please.”

As she begged and pleaded, watching as the image of her infant daughter ran through her mind, Rocco placed his hands around her neck. “No…please, Rocco. I’ll never…I’ll neve-“ She couldn’t breathe. She’d felt his hands around her neck before, but then she’d always know that he valued money, which he got from her, more than her life; eventually he’d let go. But this time, his grip got tighter and tighter. She could feel her eyes bulging. Her nails dug into the gloves he was wearing. She could swear she felt them break through, but he wasn’t budging.

She knew. These were her last moments. No matter what she did, she was going to die. Instead of fighting it, begging and pleading, she closed her eyes and allowed the picture of her daughter crawling across the floor with a smile to be the last thing she saw. 

\---

And as quickly as it started, it ended, and she hung limply in his arms. With a quick throw, he tossed her body back into the garbage pile. It wasn’t a dumpster, but it was just as good. The fact that he even had to do this was ridiculous, wasting his time on these old women, but he couldn’t allow this to come back and bite him. He’d come too far to let a whore be his downfall.


	17. Chapter 17

It wasn’t going to be a long ride to Decatur, but as they plane ascended, you wondered when this would all end. Unlike your last ride on jet, a ride into your past that was, Spencer sat next to you and held your hand. He could feel the twitching and sweat indicative of an overabundance of nerves. All you wanted to do was make peace with past and find out who you were now, but whenever you started making progress, something came up and pulled you back, dirtying your improvements, like a brother grabbing his sister’s dress and pulling her backward – the dress got dirty, it could be wiped off. But it was a never-ending cycle, and you were so very tired. Now wasn’t the time for that, you needed to focus, because if this was Rocco, and you were still pretty convinced it was, you required every ounce of energy you possessed to take the bastard done.

Just as you were about to get lost in your daydream, or nightmare really, Garcia popped up onto the TV screen. Normally, right as she clicked in, she’d greet you all with some perky, peppy monologue about how she was the one and only, which was true of course, but she’d hesitated. “They found another body,” you said immediately, eliciting a small nod from the team’s guardian angel. “Can I see her picture?” The second she popped up, you remembered her. “When I knew her, she was Amber.”

“And who she is now is no mystery to me,” Garcia said, trying her best to pep herself up. “Her real name is Trina Masters and I think she may give you a run for the most fucked up past award.” Somehow, you weren’t quite sure, but you gave Garcia a smirk. “At the age of 6, her mother ran with her after finding that her father had been molesting her. He went to jail and subsequently died in a prison riot. For the next ten years, there really isn’t a blip in the radar until she turned 16 when her mother died of cancer. With no one else to turn to, she went from homeless shelter to homeless shelter for a few months and was then picked up by Rocco. At least I can assume so, because her first arrest was for prostitution and Rocco Mitchell bailed her out. Over the next three years, she was arrested for prostitution, possession with intent to distribute, assault, and a variety of small offenses. They stopped at 20, which is in line with what Y/N said about Rocco replacing these women with younger ones once they reached adulthood.” She shivered at the thought, hating the fact that the words had even come out of her mouth. And when you thought about it, Trina might just have had a worse past than you. 

With a click, the crime scene photos popped up on the screen. “This one was angrier,” Spencer said, staring at the small purple and red dots around her eyes. “Mary and Clara didn’t have petechial hemorrhage, but she does.” He’d used more force with her.

“And it’s only been a day and a half and three women have been found already,” Emily said, looking at her watch. “Maybe there was more force because whoever this happens to be is truly desperate to meet some kind of timeline.”

Garcia shivered again, about to deliver more disgusting news that would undoubtedly scar her perfect, beautiful brain. “She was also sexually assaulted. While we don’t have her results, the results from Mary and Clara came up inconclusive. Whoever this was didn’t leave anything behind in that department. However-“ Her eyes lit up. Maybe he’d fucked up? “He did leave something behind. Under Trina’s fingernails, the ME found small bits of latex gloves and a small amount of blood. She managed to nick him. Good for her.”

Well that was a nail in the unsub’s coffin. Hard evidence. “She left behind a boyfriend, Dwayne, and an infant daughter, Amanda.” Another child losing their parent too soon. When would it end?

Hotch rubbed his temple. After so many years in this role, one might assume that people like Hotch and Rossi, who between them had more than 50 years of experience, would have gotten used to the horrors they’d seen. But the strained look on theirs faces and the way they were sighing and rubbing their eyes told even the newest of profilers that they’d never gotten used to the depravity they came across. When your glance met Rossi’s, you could see the question in his eyes. Was this all worth it? At the beginning of his career, he would’ve immediately said yes, but with each passing year he found it harder and harder to answer that question. “Okay, when we get there we are going to split up so we can cover the most ground, with the exception of Y/N, you’ll be with me, and Emily, you’ll go with JJ.” When you were about to ask why, he continued. “If this is Rocco Mitchell, then you are a target, and I don’t want you going anywhere alone.” You wanted to protest, but you swallowed your pride instead. 

“Morgan, when we touch down, I want you to go interview Trina’s boyfriend. Reid, you have Clara’s family. Dave, you’ll take Mary’s family. Emily, I want you and JJ to head to the most recent crime scene and then the ME, and Y/N, you and I will go to the first two crime scenes.” With your orders given out, everyone settled back into their seats.

“You okay?” Spencer whispered, giving your hand another squeeze.

Shaking your head, you turned to him. Tears had become normal – a day without them was considered weird. “It’s just…I worked toward this for nearly 20 years, and now I’m wondering if I’m cut out for this…in the long haul. I’m just so tired, Spence. It feels like no matter what I do, I can’t move beyond my past.” When a tear fell down your cheek, Spencer wiped it away with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “After all you’ve been through, I think you’re quite possibly the strongest woman I’ve ever known, but…no matter what decision you make about your future I’ll understand, as long as I can be in it.”

A small smile spread across your face despite the tears. “Thank you, Spence,” you said softly. “I have a lot of thinking to do. But for now, let’s focus on getting whoever this happens to be.”

“You still think it’s Rocco, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you said with undeniable certainty. “If the third victim had been someone I didn’t know, I’d have said I was jumping to conclusions, but considering I also knew Trina…” 

He swallowed hard. The more you found out, the more everyone seemed to take your side. This looked like Rocco’s doing.

—

The minute you touched down in Decatur everyone shot out in his or her respective directions. There was no time to waste if you wanted to catch whoever this was before they killed again. You and Hotch made a quick pit-stop to check in with the local authorities – like you, they assumed this was Rocco Mitchell. Although he’d moved his ring of prostitution from Decatur to Atlanta in recent years, they assumed he was returning for revenge of some kind.

In your opinion, it wasn’t revenge, but it was definitely connected to Rocco’s past and by extension his future. As you hopped into the car with Hotch and an officer from the Decatur PD, you sighed. “You okay?” Hotch asked.

“I’ll be fine, Hotch, it’s just…” You hesitated, wondering if it was best to revel to the local officer that you had a past with Rocco Mitchell. “It’s just, I’m pretty sure we’re going to find at least one more body before we catch him.”

Hotch was also hesitant to reveal anything about you if it wasn’t what you wanted, but he was also big on transparency with whoever you happened to be working with. “Is that all?” he asked. “You seem to have something else on your mind.”

The other thing that was on your mind was what you’d spoken with Spencer about earlier. Were you really cut out for this? “After everything that’s happened, I’m just not sure of where I stand,” you admitted. “Not with the Bureau, I appreciate everyone having my back, more than any of you will ever know, but in my own mind.”

“That’s understandable,” he said, reaching over and placing his hand on top of yours.

The officer, who’d introduced himself as Officer Riley Johnson, piped up from the back seat. “What would they need to have your back for?”

There really was no need in hiding it, but you still hesitated. “My name now is Agent Y/N Y/L/N, but about 20 years ago, my name was Sierra Cheverie, and I was one of Rocco Mitchell’s girls.” His eyes widened in amazement. 

“You afraid you might be a target if this is him?” he asked, thankfully glossing over the fact that you were a former working girl. 

If this was Rocco, you were 100 percent a target. “Yes, the three women that have been murdered so far are girls that I worked the streets with back then, so I have no doubt that whoever this is, is attacking that specific group of working girls.” By the time you finished informing Officer Johnson of your checkered past, you’d arrived at the first crime scene.

A gnawing started in your stomach and the bile rose in your throat. “Y/N?” Hotch placed his hand on your shoulder. 

“I’ve been in this alley before, Hotch.” You looked down, unable to meet his gaze. He didn’t need to ask why you’d been in this alley. Before looking around, you took a few minutes to compose yourself. This particular area, where Mary’s body had been found, was a particular hot spot for clients because it was well-hidden. If you had been taken advantage of in this alleyway before, it was more than likely the other women had as well. “Hotch…this is Rocco.”

He nodded. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. “C-Can you tell us about this alleyway?” He hated having to ask you; you could see it in his face. But you really needed to get inside Rocco’s head if you had a chance of catching him. 

“I obviously can’t vouch for the other girls, but I was taken here by many clients,” you started. “It’s off the beaten path, so people can hide here easily. Because of that, Rocco would take some of us here as well. I’ve been up against the dumpster before…” Your brought your hands up to cover your nose and mouth in an attempt to stop the tears, but it did little good. “He thinks of his girls like dirt - nothing more than a set of holes to be used to make him money. If you outlive your usefulness, you’re disposable.”

Hotch placed his hand on your back and ushered you out of the alleyway with Officer Johnson close behind. You got back into the car to make your way to Clara’s crime scene, but unfortunately, you were fairly confident that you were going to find the same exact thing – an unceremonious burial place where no one deserved to take their final breaths.

—

After returning from Clara’s crime scene, which was, as you’d expected, the same as Mary’s, you returned with the local officer to the local police department. When you arrived, Spencer and Rossi had already returned from their interviews with the first two victims’ families. “What did you find out?” Hotch asked.

Spencer wrapped his arms around, seeing how badly this was affecting you. “Clara’s husband was aware of her past. He actually helped her out of it. She had the one relapse, which is actually how she met her husband. He was interning at a substance abuse clinic when they met.” You took a deep breath and grabbed onto Spencer’s coat. He placed his hand on your back and began moving up and down; it normally helped to center you. “When I asked if he knew of anyone who might want to hurt his wife, his immediate answer was Rocco Mitchell. Her husband said she worked very hard to get where she was and the two of them and their family was in a good place. The only thing she had against her was her past.” 

“Same with Mary,” Rossi said remorsefully. After composing yourself again, you looked over at him. “She and her husband crossed paths randomly on the street. After dating for about a year, she revealed her past to him. They had a bit of a hard time working through it, but they did, and she was happy. I asked the same thing, and he also said Rocco Mitchell. Mary’s husband said, and I quote, ‘Mary was convinced that even though she was happy that her past was going to somehow come back and bite her in the ass.’”

Emily and JJ were still traveling to and from the ME’s office and the latest crime scene. “What do you have over there?” Hotch asked, picking up the phone to dial them.

Apparently, not much else you didn’t already know. Trina’s crime scene read exactly like the other two, and the ME was still waiting on the DNA from under Trina’s fingernails. “Alright, we’ll start on the profile when you, JJ and Morgan get back.” 

Morgan should’ve checked in already, you thought to yourself. Something was wrong.


	18. Chapter 18

As soon as Morgan and an officer drove up to Trina’s house, he could sense something was amiss. “Get out your gun,” Morgan commanded, quietly getting out of the car and closing the door. 

“We’re just here for an interview,” the officer whispered harshly. Morgan brought his finger up to his mouth to quiet him.

Just as he thought, the door was slightly ajar. He gently pushed it open to see the house in disarray. “What the hell happened?” Officer Jones asked. 

By the looks of it, a fight had raged between the unsub and whoever was in the house at the time. Vases were shattered at their feet. Furniture had been moved, but randomly here and there, as if someone had knocked into it. The trail of destruction flamed out from the living room all across the house until finally a small stream of blood emerged from the bedroom – it was Trina’s boyfriend. “Is my baby okay?” he croaked. 

“Call a medic!” Morgan screamed. Just after he screamed, he heard the cries. “And then go get his daughter.” Seconds later, Officer Jones walked into the room with the baby in hand. “She’s okay. Stay with me, man. What’s your name?” 

“Dwayne,” he said. “Trina’s boyfriend. She’s gone…my Trina’s gone.” The crying wasn’t helping his bleeding. He felt like the bullet had ripped through him.

Morgan pressed down harder on the bullet wound. “Stay with me, Dwayne. You’ve got a beautiful, little girl to live for. The medics are on their way. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Rocco…” he said. 

“He came here? Why?”

“He told me Trina was dead and if I didn’t give him what he wanted he was gonna kill my baby,” he said. He was numb, no longer sobbing – as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying or where he was.

Rocco wanted another name. “Who was he looking for?”

“Trina’s friend. Leslie Miller. They worked together back in the day, when they were with Rocco. I’m sorry, I had to tell him where she lived or he was gonna kill my daughter, I’m sorry!” 

Dwayne ‘s guilt overtook him, sobbing as the medics came to take him to the hospital, while the authorities took care of his little girl. “Hotch,” he said, calling his boss before he was even out the door. “Rocco came into Trina’s house and threatened her boyfriend for the location of a Leslie Miller, a friend who used to work with Trina back in the day. He said if he didn’t give him the name he was gonna shoot his baby.”

“We’re on it,” he said. “We’ll text you the location.”

Immediately, Hotch moved to another room to patch in Garcia. “Give my fingers something to do my loves.” 

“Garcia, we need a location on Leslie Miller. She was a working girl who remained friends with Trina after they left that life behind,” Hotch said quickly. His tone told Garcia they were on a time crunch so she flew her fingers over the keys and brought up an address in a matter of seconds.

She was going a little stir crazy in the office. “Is that all you need, my liege? I can do so much more. Direct me.” Spinning around in her chair wasn’t even helping her boredom. 

“Rocco is our unsub and he’s going after Leslie right now.”

Oh, so that’s why she had nothing to do. “Go save the day. Be safe, my lovelies. Fare thee well.”

Quick to inform the local officers, Hotch led the way as you all piled into a couple of cars. If you didn’t get to Leslie’s house soon, there would be no chance for her, if he hadn’t already killed her already. “He’s devolving,” you said, getting into the back seat with Spencer, Hotch and Emily. “There were definitely more than four of us working for him at the time. Knowing what I know about him now there’s no way he would show his hand this early unless he was becoming desperate.” 

“Morgan told me Dwayne lost a lot of blood, so it would stand to reason he thought he was dead and therefore had no need to hide anything because he was two steps ahead of us,” Hotch said, pulling off one road and onto another.

Emily piped up from the back seat, placing her hand on your shoulder. “Well, he made a mistake.” She turned to you, seeing the fear in your eyes and the shrug in your shoulders. “We’re gonna get this guy.”

Both Emily and Spencer looked on as you turned your head, the tears spilling forth from your eyes. “Haven’t we been through enough?” you said aloud. Back then you’d watched your fellow working girls being taken to the extremes – raped on a daily basis, bones broken, faces and necks bruised – why were the Gods looking down on you like this. Why had the group of you been tortured so? All you wanted was for this to be over, because once it was, you had a lot to think about. 

When you looked down at your phone, you saw Spencer had sent you a text. “You’re stronger than you know. We’ll get through this together. I love you.”

“I love you, too. I’m just…sorry…”

Within seconds, he’d texted back. “You have nothing to be sorry about. This isn’t your fault…I promise you you’re not alone.”

The drive felt like an eternity, but it was less than five minutes before they pulled up to Leslie’s address. With weapons drawn and ready to fire, you entered the quaint home on the hill. It was beautiful. You couldn’t help but think how so many of your “colleagues” had pulled themselves out of the gutter only to be ripped back into it. The moment you looked down the hallway, you knew you were too late. In a pool of blood, lay Leslie. Her t-shirt was soaked in blood and her eyes stared back at you. You’d never forget those eyes. 

Immediately, you holstered your weapon and spun around, wiping the tears and snort from your face with the sleeve of your shirt. “Dammit!” you screamed. You returned outside and told the locals they could go inside. They wanted to ask you if you were okay, but all you wanted to do was be alone. 

Once the officers had filed in, Spencer came out, enveloping you in his arms without a word. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. 

“We were too late,” you sobbed. “All of us pulled ourselves up from our bootstraps and we keep being dragged down. It’s not fair!” Gently, you beat your hands against his chest in anger.

“I told Hotch you’d be back in in a minute,” he said.

The tears were stinging at your eyes. You needed a few minutes to compose yourself. “I just need a moment alone…I love you, Spence.”

“Take your time,” he replied. He grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze before heading back inside. “And I love you too.”

\---  
Finding Leslie had been easy, but now he had to work again. Where could the rest of them be? As he wiped the blood off of his hands with a small towel, which he then stuff back into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, ready to call his right hand man for more information. That’s when he glanced up and saw something he never expected.

It couldn’t possibly be her. She was dead. One of his clients had left her in an alleyway. He remembered so well because he’d been pissed. She was one of his biggest moneymakers, so when he assumed she died, he lost out on a lot of income. But it was her. The hair. The slope of her cheekbones. Those beautiful legs. It was her – Sierra. 

Plans were diverted. He hadn’t expected he’d need to take care of her too. He put his phone back in his pocket and looked up again to see her examining something. When he focused on it, he could tell – it was a badge. She was a fed now. 

Well, fuck.

But it didn’t matter. She knew more than any of the other girls; in addition to being an amazing prostitute, she’d been a fantastic drug mule. No one ever suspected her because she looked so innocent. That’s why he’d liked her too. Seeing her eyes quake in fear under his fingertips; that’d be something he’d never forget. She had to be dealt with too. And there was no guarantee she’d be here for that much longer. He needed to make a move now.  
\---

After a few moments of composing yourself, you figured you should probably get back inside. These girls weren’t going to get any justice unless everyone, including you, was on top of their game. With one more deep breath, you turned around, ready to walk back to the house and do your damn job. 

But just as you stepped forward, you were yanked back – a hand over your mouth as your gun was taken off your belt and thrown to the floor.


	19. Chapter 19

When your eyes opened, they took a minute to focus. Someone had come up behind you. As you looked around, your eyes blinking open and shut in an effort to focus yourself more quickly, you took in the hardened floor at your feet. You weren’t outside anymore. Your hands pulled down, but were stopped by something…it was rope. Your hands were tied, but not well; you could easily get out of this and run. 

Undoing the ties, you pushed up off the floor and tried to figure out where you were. That’s when it dawned on you – it was an abandoned warehouse that had been in and out of repair for nearly 20 years, starting when you’d first lost your parents. They constantly commented on how someone needed to buy it up and renovate it because it was a breeding ground for crime.

And it had been. Rocco used to recommend this place for clients who wanted extreme privacy with his girls. You had a feeling you knew what was coming, so you reached into your bra, grabbed your phone, sent a quick emergency text, and turned on the recorder before placing it back where he wouldn’t be able to see. 

“My Sierra,” he said proudly, wielding a knife that he seemed to have just sharpened or cleaned. “I’ve missed you.” The deep yet smooth nature of his voice sent shivers up your spine. Out of habit, you pulled your legs into you, shielding yourself from his prying your legs open. “Still mine after all these years.” 

How were you supposed to play this? If the team hadn’t realized your absence already, with the text, they would soon. But you had to buy enough time for them to find you. 

There was one thing you knew – you’d die before you let him touch you again. “I’m not yours,” you said softly, gazing his reaction. Despite knowing you were a federal officer, he believed your meek tone and laughed condescendingly to himself.

“You’ve always been mine, Sierra. Even after all of these years, you’re still one of my favorites.

He inched ever closer, tucking the knife into a bag on chair at the entrance to the room you were in. You swallowed hard, but stayed where you sat and looked up at him, eyes defiant. The goal was to strike a balance between meek and defiant, make him think that the defiance was an act. “My name isn’t Sierra. It never was. I was Kayla Connors before, and I’m Y/N now.” 

“You’ll always be Sierra to me,” he said, bringing his hand underneath your chin and guiding you up off the floor and against the wall.

For now, you needed to play along with his little game. With all of the courage you could muster, you took a deep breath. “Why, Rocco?” 

“Why what, my sweet girl?” he asked, caressing the side of your face. You recoiled from his touch desperately wishing you could just murder him, but you wanted justice for your former friends. He needed to pay for what he’d done. 

“Mary, Clara, Trina, Leslie…you were going to kill everyone that worked the same time as I did…” You trailed off, not wanting to give him all of the information you had on him. You were a big fan of letting an unsub hang themselves with their own noose.

Slowly, his smile softened – not so much a frown, but more indifferent, and he stepped away from you. “I’ll never understand how someone like you became a federal agent.” He pulled your badge out of his pocket and flipped it over in his hand. “My guess is you were hired because you could give them valuable information on people like me, but I’m going to have a little fun with you, for old time’s sake, before I dispose of you too.”

You thought he was going to lunge at you, but he hesitated. Please say more, you thought to yourself. Say more so holding my tongue will actually mean something. “You remember how I used to transport my drugs?”

As you nodded softly, he continued. “Do you remember my best client?” You did. His name was Bradley O’Connor – a CEO who frequently traveled through the area and bought coke not only for himself, but for his top-ranking members as well.

“Bradley O’Connor. You double-crossed him, didn’t you?” 

“Not as dumb as I thought,” he said, his eyebrows raising as he walked toward you. “For years, I cut his drugs and charged him twice as much. He never knew. And I couldn’t risk it anymore, especially now that we’re doing business together again.” Outside, you swore you could hear a car door slam shut, but whether the team was here or not, you didn’t have much longer.

As he approached you, you could sense his intentions. Sure enough, his hand ran up the side of your legs and rested at the juncture of your thighs. A developed reflex took over and you pushed him back with all of your might. He stumbled backwards, his look of nostalgia turning into one of boiling rage. “How dare you!” 

“How dare you!” you screamed. “You will never touch me again. Ever.”

Pushing back his sleeves, he took a deep breath and did his best to shake your newfound confidence. “I will do whatever I please, because you’re mine and always will be.” Before you could protect yourself, he ran toward you and wrapped his hands around your throat.

Without a moment’s hesitation you brought your dominant arm up over your head and slammed it down across both of his, immediately breaking the contact he had with your neck. A growl escaped you as you leaned back against the wall and kicked at him with all of your might. “Bastard!”

The last thing you wanted to do was get backed into a corner, so you circled around each other. “I’m going to have a good time with you before I kill you,” he said, breaths heaving. He truly never expected you to fight back. Even as an officer, he assumed you had no strength – that you were still the cowering, scared teenager begging for scraps off the streets.

“I’m going to have a fun time killing you.” You smiled, wanting to enrage him. If he lost control, you’d be able to figure out his fighting style quickly – learn his weaknesses. It worked, because he ran toward you. You easily sidestepped his “attack,” and spun around to kick him again. This time your leather boot came into contact with the side of his face with a satisfying crunch. 

Again, he ran toward you as he screamed. “You think just because you’re a fed means I you have any power. You’re nothing. You’ve always been nothing. You’ll always be nothing.” You tried to sidestep him again, but it didn’t work. He tackled you to the floor, the full weight of his body weighing down on you in another chokehold. 

But that had been his biggest mistake – underestimating you. Your dominant arm grabbed his opposing wrist while the other grabbed his upper arm. In order to get away unscathed you were going to need to disable one complete side, arm and leg. So you wrapped your free leg around his, pinning it to the ground before using the non-dominant side of your body to flip him over. The second you were out from under him you pushed off of him.

For a while, you were wondering whether the team knew you were missing – or worse, if they cared, but as you stood up, ready to defend yourself to the death, you saw the entire team barge into the room out of the corner of your eye. “Rocco Mitchell! FBI! Hands up!” Morgan screamed, his face so contorted in anger, his blood vessels were rising to the surface.

“You’ve got nothing on me,” he said smugly, putting his hands up and getting up off the floor. “The money I have? I’ll be out in no time.”

With a smirk, you reached into your bra, opened it up, and pressed the play button, his words from earlier echoing in everyone’s ears. “No, Rocco. You’re done.”

“You fucking bitch!” he screamed as he ran toward you. But he didn’t the chance. No one gave him a second chance, because within feet of you, he fell to floor, a bullet in between his eyes, courtesy of Spencer. 

He ran up to your side and you fell into him, the energy now drained from your body. “Are you okay?” he asked. He grabbed your face in his hands and turned you toward him. Y/N, did he hurt you? Are you okay?”

Your eyes filled with emotion as you saw the genuine fear in his eyes. “I’m okay. I was going to die before I let him touch me again.” When you looked down at the body on the floor, you broke completely. Spencer caught you, wrapping his arms around you as you screamed. The man that had caused you so much physical pain, and even more emotional pain, was lying in a pool of his own blood. No longer could he terrorize young girls. No longer could he violate them. No longer could he wrap his hands around their throats and watch the life drain from their eyes. He was gone. But still all you felt was overwhelming grief.


	20. Chapter 20

It seemed like an eternity before you were able to take your eyes off him. How were you supposed to feel? Sure, Rocco was no longer able to hurt anyone else, but what did it mean for your morality if you were ecstatic that someone else was dead? Were you a changed woman? Could you ever go back to who you used to be? Did you want to? There were so many questions.

Spencer sat at your back, arms wrapped around you in solidarity as the rest of the team took care of the crime scene. JJ was working with the CSI that had come to collect the body – her body moving in slow motion as Rocco was picked up from a pool of his own blood and slipped into a body bag.

More than once, someone from the team came to kneel at your side, wondering whether or not you were okay. You couldn’t say much; nodding and incoherent mumbles were about all you could muster.

Still, you sat in the middle of the floor with Spencer wrapped around you as pictures were taken. Everything documented. Every piece of rope that had been placed around your wrists, every bit of torn fabric from his clothing or yours noted for future generations to study. The ending of your nightmare was documented for all to see. 

Nearly an hour and a half passed before you turned to Spencer. “It’s over. You can move forward now.”

“I don’t know how to feel,” you said softly, turning your head back toward the pool of blood on the floor that was now beginning to coagulate. “How am I supposed to feel?”

Moving out from behind you, he pulled his legs underneath him and got off the floor, extending his hand for you to grab. You’d spent enough time looking at this place. You’d spent enough of your life afraid. It was time for you to leave. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “It’s likely you’re both ecstatic and numb. It’s normal.”

“Is it?” It didn’t feel normal. You felt sick. There was bile stinging at the back of your throat.

As you began to walk out of the room, your feet heavier than bricks, Spencer nodded toward Hotch that he was going with you. He placed his arm around you, resting underneath your arm as a steadying force. If he wasn’t here, you were positive you’d have fallen to floor in a heap again. “It’s normal,” he said again. His voice felt so far away. “You’re going to feel a whole range of emotions for the next few weeks. Sadness, anger, despair, guilt – sometimes nothing at all – but I’m here.” After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke again. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Once outside, Spencer placed you at the edge of the ambulance to be checked out. You were sure you were fine, just in shock, but Spencer wasn’t taking no for answer. “Exactly,” he said emphatically. “You’re in shock. You have no idea what injuries the shock could be covering up. Get checked out. I’m staying right here.”

You stared forward, mouth agape and brain racing as lights were flashed in your eyes, your pulse was taken, and every limb was poked and prodded. “You just have to contend with the shock,” the EMT spoke. “A few cuts and scrapes but nothing big. Just don’t try and do anything right now. Stay here and wrap this around you.” Before leaving, he placed the shock blanket around you and left you leaning against Spencer’s shoulder.

Finally, the rest of the team emerged from the building that somehow looked so familiar and yet so foreign to you. You hadn’t been here in forever. As they walked over to you, you once again felt an overwhelming wave of emotions engulf you. The tears that had dried up, returned in full force. “Are you okay?”

You hadn’t even looked up. Who was that? A hand on your shoulder made you look toward Emily. “Are you okay is a stupid question,” she said, shaking her head. “How are you? What’s going through your head?”

“A lot,” you said, doing your best to crack a smile and make it look like you were just recovering from any other case. You wiped the tears from your eyes and did your best to formulate a coherent thought. “I-I…” How did you adequately thank these people for what they’d done for you? Nothing felt like enough. “I can’t thank all of you enough for taking on a fight that wasn’t yours,” you started, taking Spencer’s hand in yours for a little added strength. “Rocco was bad enough, but I can take that as you just doing your jobs because he came across your path, but you all could’ve easily left me to the wolves with Ashton…and you didn’t…I don’t know how to process that.”

Rossi came to your side, giving you a kiss on the forehead. As he pulled away, you could’ve sworn you saw your father’s eyes staring back at you. “We’re family,” he said. Everyone nodded their heads, even JJ and Morgan who you were convinced for so long would never actually forgive you. “When someone comes after one of us, they come after all of us.”

“I know,” you said, your voice strained as the tears burning your cheeks as they fell into your lap. “That’s just it. I haven’t had that…a family…since I was 15. When my parents died, I thought my world was going to fall apart, and then for a time it did…and Leslie…she was the only one I felt at all close to. She protected me, even when I felt I didn’t deserve it. And then I lost her too.” A sob rattled out of you as you brought the shock blanket around your head and leaned further into Spencer. “When you spend 20 years without a family, believing it’s you against the world and always will be, it’s hard to imagine that you’ll ever have a family again. And then after Ashton…”

You looked towards JJ, breaking down again at the thought of what had gone down in the past. “It’s over,” she said, wrapping her arms around you. “We’re working on it. That’s what we need to focus on now.” She stepped away, giving you space to breathe, but not before giving for a kiss on the forehead.

You blew a kiss of your own toward her as you attempted to continue. “After Ashton, I wouldn’t have blamed any of you for turning away. I’m sure some of you wanted to,” you said, turning your head and smiling at Morgan, “But whatever the reason was, you didn’t, and I will never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done for me. Whether it was for me or not, it doesn’t matter, I benefitted from it, and that’s more than I could’ve ever asked for, or deserved, so thank you. I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to all of you that you didn’t make a mistake in trusting me.”

“Are we all getting married or something?” Morgan asked after a few moments, trying to lighten the mood.

It was the first time you’d smiled since returning to Decatur, snorting as you realized that your words did sound somewhat like wedding vows. “Yes,” you said. “Yes, we are.” One by one, everyone gathered around you and gave you a hug, insisting that what was done was done, and they all wanted to move forward.

“Now, you two,” Hotch said, nodding toward you and Spencer. “When we get back, I want you to go home. Take the day off.” He didn’t have to tell you twice. Having a day to yourself after all of this was going to come as a welcome relief. “In the meantime, we’re going to go back with the locals, and Y/N, they are going to want to ask you all about Rocco and what happened just now…are you up for that?”

Hesitantly, you nodded your head. “If it means being able to leave here and work toward never thinking about that man again, then yes.” You waited a moment as the team began to walk away. The thought of being alone right now was not something you wanted. “Hotch?” you called after him.

“Yes?”

“It may be a stupid question, but can I just answer whatever questions they have in the middle of the station?” He looked a little confused, as if he wasn’t sure what you were asking. “I’d just rather not go to a conference room or interrogation room and be alone. My past with him is my past, I’m not hiding it anymore, and I’d rather have you all at my back.”

In a rare moment of public affection, Hotch lifted his hand and brought it to the side of your face, assuring you that if you wanted them there, they’d be there as you recounted everything. He turned around to leave and you stood up to lean on Spencer. “Thank you, Spence. I’m just so sorry…about everything.”

He brought his hand up to cradle the back of your head. “We’ll talk about it later. For now, just breathe. It’s over.”

—

After recounting your past with Rocco and your subsequent altercation to the team and the Decatur PD, you were physically, emotionally and mentally drained. The last thing you did was send over the file of Rocco’s confession to the local officers for them to record. “Agent Y/L/N,” Chief Sturgis said. “I am truly sorry about what you’ve gone through, but we can’t thank you enough for helping as take down a man that’s been terrorizing this area for more than 20 years. For you, what’s happened has happened, but because of you, and the rest of your team, other women won’t have to suffer at his hands. Thank you.”

“Thank you, officer,” you replied. “It’s been difficult, but if I take any solace from what’s happened over the course of this case, it’s that no more women will have to endure him.”

Along with the team, you returned to the jet. It wasn’t a long ride back home, but the second you sat down in Spencer’s lap you fell asleep.

—

Hours later, you woke up, but you weren’t on the jet. Spencer had taken you home and placed you into bed all without waking you up. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he said softly as he pushed the hair out of your eyes. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” you said. “How long have I been out?”

“I got you off the jet and here without waking you up. You’ve been out for about six hours all together,” he said, bending down to kiss your cheek. As you looked toward the clock, you realized it was 8PM, and you could probably still go back to sleep for another two days. “I brought you some tea. The sleepy-time tea you like.”

You sat up and took the cup to your lips, inhaling the sweet scent that never failed to lull you off to sleep. Reaching between you, you grabbed his hand. “I love you, Spence. I’m so sorry for everything.”

“Listen, Y/N,” he said with a smile, coming to your side and pulling you into him. “When it comes to Ashton and JJ, and all of that. It’s in the past. I forgive you. I can see in your eyes that you never wanted things to happen as they did. And when it comes to your past with Rocco, you have nothing to be sorry about. You were taken advantage of, and nothing about that was your fault. Now, I just want to help you move forward, because it’s not going to be easy.”

“No, it’s not,” you said. “I just don’t know how to start the process of moving forward, you know?” You’d thought moving forward after Ashton was hard, but now Rocco was no longer a threat, adding another layer onto your already complicated recovery process.

He tilted your face up to meet his and brushed his lips against yours. “I know. For now, don’t try. Just be. We’ll figure it out. Together.” You pulled him in and kissed him passionately, unable to thank him in any other way. “I promise I’ll be here through it all.”

After finishing your cup of tea, you sunk back against the mattress, ready to let sleep overtake you again. This time, Spencer gathered you close to him, kissing your neck as you fell asleep in his embrace. Twenty years. It had been 20 years since you’d been able to fall asleep knowing you had nothing to fear when you woke up. Tears fell out from under your eyelids as you began to drift off, but instead of tears of fear and sadness, you fell asleep knowing your past was truly behind you, and you had a family at your back willing to help you move forward and follow you to the ends of the earth.


	21. Epilogue

In the months following the BAU’s capture of Bentley Ashton and the killing of famed pimp and drug dealer, Rocco Mitchell, you’d made a host of life changes.

“Baby, we’re gonna be late,” you called into your bedroom. 

Nearly a month after catching and killing Rocco, Spencer had asked you to move in with him. “We’ve been through so much,” he’d said. “And I know we still have a way to go, but I want to be by your side while we get there.” Immediately, you’d said yes, feeling more grateful than you ever thought possible for the man at your side.

Spencer stumbled out of your bedroom, shirt half buttoned and still hanging out of his pants. Your alarm had fucked up, leaving you both less than a half hour to get ready to get to work on time. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he laughed, giving you a kiss before running into the kitchen to gulp down a glass of orange juice. “Damn alarm.”

You giggled under your breath, grabbing his hand as you both ran down the stairs to head to work. After a whole lot of reflecting, daily therapy, and conversations with your boyfriend and teammates, you made a choice you never thought you’d make. As you were working toward your goal of joining the BAU, you never imagined you’d want to do anything – and you didn’t, at least not totally. You wanted more. You wanted to advocate. After all you’d been through, it seemed the best way to help others and heal yourself. 

Twenty years after fighting your way up to work with the Bureau day-in and day-out, you downgraded your status to consulting team member, so that you could lend your services whenever you weren’t traveling across the country to speak out – telling your story and advocating for others in your position.

In addition to speaking on behalf of the Department of Justice’s Child Exploitation section, you traveled all over, speaking to downtrodden young women who were still in, or just recently out of the lifestyle that plagued you for that one dark year. Today was a Bureau day, which you were thankful for after your speech for the Rape, Abuse and Incent National Network. 

According to your therapist, speaking at conferences and centers would be extremely painful at first, but you seemed to be healing through divulging your story. Eventually, it would become less painful to talk about, but for now, each time you recounted your story, you felt emotionally and physically exhausted afterwards.

On your way into work, you got a call. Now that you were a known advocate, you got calls constantly to come speak on behalf of a given organization. “Hello,” you said, motioning for Spencer to turn towards the coffee shop. You’d be a couple minutes late, but you in desperate need. “This is Y/N Y/L/N. Can I ask who I’m talking to?”

“Hello, Ms. Y/L/N, this is Sarah M. Buel, director emerita of the National Center on Domestic and Sexual Violence.” 

“Hello, Ms. Buel. How can I help you?” Spencer stepped out of the car, mouthing your normal order and you nodded your head. Through all of this, Spencer had been nothing short of spectacular. Although your advocacy had you away from home frequently, you did your best to make sure you scheduled speeches for when he was away with the Bureau. Even though it was hard, this new schedule of speaking at conferences and working with the Bureau was exactly what you felt you should be doing. For the first time in your life, you truly felt at peace with who you were and what you were doing.

Ms. Buel started off by telling you a bit about the organization, all of which you already knew. When you first started considering your current path, you looked up a plethora of different organizations, including the National Center on Domestic and Sexual Violence. “If you are able,” she continued, her voice soft and calming, “We would love if you could speak at a conference we have coming up in a couple of weeks.” 

While Spencer was grabbing your coffee, and apparently a chocolate-covered rainbow-sprinkle donut for himself, you ironed out the details with Ms. Buel, agreeing to speak at one of their annual conferences in three weeks time. “Thank you, Ms. Buel. I look forward to meeting all of you.”

“Another conference?” Spencer asked, his voice laden with pride as he handed you your coffee.

Softly, you smiled at him, leaning over to kiss him before taking a sip of your coffee. “Yea. This time for the National Center on Domestic and Sexual Violence.”

On the way into work, you sat in silence, pondering how you would start off your speech this time. The words tended to change, but the message was always the same – circumstances don’t define you, how you react to them does. But you were ripped out of your thoughts as soon as you got to work. Spencer parked the car and walked over to your side, pulling it open and extending his hand. When you were on the street, you never imagined having a man show you any respect, no less have one that treated you like a princess – you would be forever grateful.

He pulled you up flush against him and kissed your forehead, saying nothing for a moment. “I know I’ve been saying it a lot lately,” he said, his pink lips forming a smile as he caressed your cheek with his thumb, “But I’m really proud of you.”

As the tears welled up in your eyes, you wondered if there would ever come a time when you wouldn’t cry hearing that. “You have said it lately. This morning in fact. But I’ll never get tired of hearing you say it. I never thought anyone could ever be proud of me again after what I’d gone through, but because of the team and you, mostly you, I do actually believe it - in my bones, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for it.”

“Don’t thank me,” he said, taking your hand. “I love you.”

You wiped the tears from your eyes and tangled your fingers in his as you went up the elevator. There was no case yet; it was just a regular work day, but after everything, you were thankful for a boring day every now and then.

Nearly nine months earlier, when you’d first gotten into this mess, you never imagined you’d be where you were now. You and JJ had started going to dinner once a week to try and rebuild your friendship, and Will had even started to come along. The only thing he wasn’t comfortable with yet was leaving the boys alone with you, which although hurt, you understood. One day, he would see that loved those kids and this team with all your heart; you could never hurt them.

Morgan had made both you and Penelope Hank’s godmothers. Hotch wished you luck and sent you off with a smile every time you left for a conference. Rossi, who never took a day off for anything, took off along with Spencer to accompany you to your first ever speech, greeting you with open arms afterwards as you sobbed. And Emily and Garcia would be coming to one soon. 

Spencer gave you a kiss and headed to his desk, leaving you to get lost in your thoughts for a moment. You had a mountain of paperwork to get started on, but your impending speech brought on a wave of ideas, so instead, you pulled out a pen and started to write.

\---  
I was convinced. My life was over. With parents gone, no source of income, no self-esteem, and one friend, I had nothing left. Every night was fraught with fear, wondering if that particular client would kill me, give me an STD that would kill me down the road. Every night was fraught with pain – bones were broken, legs shaking in agony from the assault I endured. Every night was fraught with thoughts of ending it all. And then one night, a friend was murdered in front of eyes, because she offered to take a client for me. That night I attempted to talk my own life, escape it all, see my parents and friend again, but for some reason I woke up. I still don’t understand why I did. But when I did, I took it as a sign that I was meant to do something, so I stood up and I ran as hard as I could, leaving my past behind and becoming someone new.

For 20 years, I worked to become a member of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. I begged on street corners, I obtained two jobs, paid my way through school with the help of a few grants for which I applied, and eventually earned my dream job. Then again, my life was turned upside down and when someone came out of the shadows with knowledge of my past. I won’t go into the dirty details of that particular case, but it ended well. The man who blackmailed me is now in prison and my former pimp, Rocco Mitchell, is dead, never to hurt another young woman like myself.

What I mean to say by telling my story is this. If you’ve lost hope, I’ve been you. If you feel like you can no longer go on, I understand. But there is hope, you are not alone, and you don’t have to suffer by yourself.

A common question I get asked is how my past affects my life now. ‘Do you still feel tainted by your past? Does the self-doubt come creeping back? Do you feel deserving of all you’ve achieved? Do you feel that your past dictates everything you are now?’ And after months of daily therapy, conversations with people who I’ve come to love and who love me, and many, many years of asking myself these same questions, I can give you some answers. Do I feel tainted by my past? Sometimes yes. Sometimes I feel that I got where I am because of my past rather than in spite of it, but then I remember my boss would never hire someone out of pity. If he hired me, it was because I earned it. Does the self-doubt come creeping back? Every damn day, and I’m pretty sure it always will. Back then, I’d allow it to overtake me, because I didn’t believe that I had anything or anyone else, but now, I give myself a few moments of pity, and then ask my boyfriend to remind me how far I’ve come. Do I feel deserving of all I’ve achieved? The answer there is yes. I have worked, begged, and scraped for what I have, but I earned it – and I’m proud. And finally, do I feel that my past dictates who I am now? No. I don’t make decisions because of my past. I make them based on who I am now. I may have a past, but my past does not define me, and it doesn’t need to define you either.

The National Center on Domestic and Sexual Abuse is here for you, in any capacity you may need. Remember, you do not have to suffer anymore. I am with you. My name is Kayla Connors. My name is Sierra Cheverie. My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I am my past, present and future. I am not alone and I have not let my past define who I am. You don’t have to either.

Thank you.   
\---

As you set your pen down, you looked around at the smiling faces of your colleagues, feeling like you fit in somewhere for the first time in 20 years. Nothing was perfect. But you never expected perfect. All you ever wanted was a group of people to call your own and a path carved just by you and for you. 

And now you had it.


End file.
